THE OPHIOLATRY

(extract from the short story The Ophiolatry. Since I am seeking publication for this it is only an extract. See the Explanatory Notes at the end…)

I had agreed to meet with him at the Ophiolatry because of the anonymity and privacy it afforded us both. Given the subject matter we had agreed to discuss and the several items we had to decide upon.

Originally designed for the ancient worship of serpents the Ophiolatry now served as little more than a secluded and abandoned museum of snakes and related creatures for the academic amusement of poignantly specialized college students seeking a career in the questionable study of reptiles.

Except by appointment, however, it was rarely occupied and almost never guarded. Mainly because there were no longer any living reptiles inhabiting the place. So there was need for neither security nor animal tender. Only the necessary attendance of the occasional fortnightly groundskeeper to ply his lonely trade as solitary groundskeeper. Yet even he would be absent tonight, as was precisely our plan in agreeing to rendezvous there.

Instead then of living beasts the halls were filled with other content, equally ominous, but entirely harmless, such as antique paintings and student sketch drawings of snakes and lesser reptiles of all kinds. Yet other and even more impressive art also embellished the halls. Including some very impressive statuary ranging from the ancient Greek representation of Laocoön and his sons being devoured by the Sea Serpents, or of Herakles mortally battling the Hydra to the more nearly modern, such as Siegfried slaying the dragon Fafnir with ringing Gramr. And beyond these there was a spectacular Basilisk cast in gilded bronze, and a small snake combed Cockatrice forged of what appeared to be rustless iron with small pearls for eyes and with a gem-dusted forked tongue.

The entire inner structure of the walls of the central hall were all coated in a greenish hue (produced perhaps by some phosphorescent substance – I did not know as I was no habitué, and it was night) that vaguely shone in the waxing moonlight, and gave them all the appearance of reflective and segmented ophidian scales. I readily concede that my imagination may have been heavily taxed but I could have also easily sworn that night to any magistrate so inclined to hear my tale that the walls did undulate unnaturally and without objective cause. Eventually I had to look away from the walls and towards my feet to avoid a surge of pressing nausea.

This singular effect however was redoubled in the inchoate lunar light by the surreal floors, which seemed to glow with the waving innate luminosity of some monstrous mythological fish. The only break in this peculiar floor design was what appeared to be a large black hole in the center of the central hall, the Opiolatry being encased by a ring of seven outer halls of varying geometries with the inner nave of the place, the largest and most spherical of all the halls, being the central one. This large hole was likewise surrounded on all sides by an ornate and engraven golden railing, yet this railing also had a gate large enough to allow entry and passage by a single man. And oddly enough, it seemed to me, that gate had been left entirely open.

Curious at this odd turn and happy for a new point of focus for my confused senses I walked to the railing and stood at the gateway peering into the hole beneath. It was still utterly dark for the most part, and cold, and smelled dank and moist, yet it seemed at regular intervals to softly breathe as if almost alive. Instantly it sprang to my intuitive imagination that I stood upon the lip of some occultic oracular pit, such as the one in which the mistress of Delphi choked upon, while noxious gases emanated continuously from the crack of some dark and toxic underworld into her eager nostrils to fire her own omened visions and dreams.

The moon had just begun to creep above the glassy central dome to slightly illuminate the pit below me. As a result a quickening beam of light began to move swiftly across the bottom of the pit as if a searchlight seeking a fleeing villain. And then I heard s slight flutter behind me and out of instinct rather than reason I dropped to my sinister knee and rolled to one side. I then felt a rush of air, then heard a brief but earnest shout, and finally a short scream followed by a sickening thud. Realizing what had happened I moved back to the gateway and peered down again into the pit. There lay Joseph Halloway, self-proclaimed esquire and supposed agent of the crown, the man I had come to meet, partially but quite effectively broken upon the marble floor beneath, one leg twisted backwards at an obscene and seemingly impossible angle, one elbow fractured in the most gruesome and bloodied compound manner.

I then instantly surmised that he had intended this horrific fate for me for some arcane and indecipherable reason and thought to ask him why he had made such a malign attempt before rendering him what aid I might. Yet before I could even speak I suddenly saw something monstrous and malevolent slither from one corner of the pit now that the moon illuminated much of the chamber in a faint argent glow…


#shortstory #horror #pennydreadful #mystery #extract

EXPLANATORY NOTES: I wrote this as part of a short story contest. I’m glad I did as this prompted me to write the first short story I’ve written in weeks. I’ve just been involved in so many other things, investment, invention, etc. that I’ve had no time to write. Anyway he contest concerned writing a flash fiction piece, and to be honest, I sat down and earnestly began to labor towards that intent.

Not long into the story however I realized I could not fulfill those (contest) requirements. The story had already become far too large for flash fiction and, indeed, may yet grow. This is, after all, but the once edited first draft. I was however told I would have probably won the contest except I exceeded the requirements in length.

It is based upon an idea I have had percolating in the back of my mind for several weeks now, maybe months. Combined with an homage piece I have meant to write for some time now as well.

This story is also a period piece, think, if you know them, of tales along the lines of a Penny Dreadful. For that is my exact intent in the execution.

A Penny Dreadful, combined with a retelling of an old Conan story, combined with a revising of the myth of Laocoön and the fate of his sons.

You may consider it a horror story, if you wish, and it might be, or as a period piece, it is, or a mixed genre piece. I consider it more a brief mediation upon the nature of human evil. Mixed with natural and even preternatural evil.

There is also a small bit of alchemical imagery included therein but that is mostly by happenstance. It was not my intent; I only noticed it in the re-reading and editing of it.

Finally I should say that the term Ophiolatry is an antique term for the pagan worship of snakes, however I transformed the word into a noun to stand for a Museum of the Serpent. Then used it in a second sense, as a verb to describe how when a man plans secret evil against another he actually ends up assuring that same evil will consume him.

Anyway I hope you like it.

If you did and wish to comment then let me know what you thought of the story and how you gauge the quality of the language I employed. Again I meant it as a 19th century period piece and as a sort of modern rewriting of the Penny Dreadful.

As I said… enjoy.

And goodnight folks.

THE SPIDER CREPT *

The spider crept upon the dame
Who danced upon the ground
And lost within her own refrain
Did hear no spider sounds,

Those Webs of Wonder – gossamer
Those hook-ed, crook-ed fangs
Did salivate to see her writhe
And thus he did abound

With many plannings high and low
For spiders stake all plots
The weather never truly tells
It could be cold or hot;

Yet eyes aplenty, fractured too
May see what we do not
When spiders creep on hairy limbs
To tie us all in knots,

I bet you wonder what’s my point?
The moral of this tale
I do not say – for is there such
A Heaven kept in hell?

I know how though, and know it well
For spider showed me this
He creeps and leaps while good men sleep
To weave his traps complete;

So if you hear him as he stalks
Then listen at his loom
For there he measures out those things
That most will not assume,

And if you see him you will watch
Him seep upon his prey
Warning never those he hunts (haunts?)
No executions stayed

For, you see

The spider crept upon the dame
Who danced upon the ground
It is a very ancient game
That we do all allow…


#Hollywood #society #sexcrime #poem #culture

* Someone posted this image about Hollywood. It made me think back on something and inspired this poem. But maybe I’m not really talking about spiders, or Hollywood. Maybe I’m talking about something else entirely… but probably also Hollywood.

PHOELEM’S ROOM

(extract from the short story Phoelem’s Room. I am seeking publication for it so this is only an extract.)

“In the heart of every man there is a door so small he may neither enter nor exit it. Nor may anyone else.”

Gogul Gukarin

Phoelem lived between all the known worlds. And among all the not known ones. In a sciamachic room he never left. In a way he never dared vary.

It was a very small room. Barely big enough to allow him to change his mind. Since, once determined upon something he never actually ever did change his mind he thought his room quite accommodating and spacious. But to you or me it would have been a puny and miserable prison. Probably, though if Truth be told I don’t actually know you. So that’s really just an assumption on my part.

Anyway, this room had a door. A small red one, barely a foot and a half in height and maybe half a foot across. There were many things just outside that little door but Phoelem never saw those things. Not even once. Or, if he ever did, he never recalled them. It had been so long ago since he had used the door.

It was a red door, or yellow, or maybe golden, or perhaps wooden, or perhaps all of these, he was fairly sure of that, though by what means he knew this he also could not recall. Maybe it was the one from whom he had procured the room that had told him this. Perhaps not. He could not recall.

In any case he never used the door. If anyone knocked he refused them entrance. If he ever had a desire to open it, just, say, out of curiosity, he quickly quashed such an absurd and anxious thought. The Door was plainly visible from inside the room as well, and so just as obvious within as without, but Phoelem never saw it. It was all-wall to him.

Phoelem abnegated on every possible occasion in every manner permitted. And he permitted himself a very wide range of Spartan limitations indeed. So permisquious was he in his personal desuetudes that he never knew a singular occurrence to prompt him to act otherwise.*

Other than the use of his Oculoom. The Oculoom itself was a most unique and exceptional device, one of countless such artifacts Phoelem kept stashed in a small treasury beneath his bed; which also served as his reclining chair as well as his study and his library and his kitchen and his toilet. I have already informed you that he was Spartan in his habits, have I not?

It was an odd device, this Oculoom. At once spherical, yet angular, both twisted and concave, straight, large, insubstantial, bulging, miniscule, solid yet nebulous, numinous, ordinary, surrepent, warm to touch yet frigid in operation – a regular tortus of improbabilities. And it was all his.

Indeed it may have been the only thing he owned which he ever truly desired to use, or which made much use of him. Or any use of him. But perhaps I get ahead of myself with that diversion in the story. So I’ll continue with our primary narrative unabated or distracted if you don’t mind. Thank you for your indulgence.

Suffice it to say that Phoelem made much use of the Oculoom. Some would even say that he became the Oculoom, or vice versa, or “non-sequitur inquesta” one might proclaim from the available evidence, but that matter is still open for autopsy, and again, not for me to say. After all I only work here and merely record what I discover. Or cannot.

In any case what is the Oculoom and how does it function? This is most perplexing to define, for the Oculoom was part crystal ball, part musical instrument, part loom, part self-fulfilling prophecy, part alchemical offal, part preponderate, part portent of things to come, part hegira, and part “scientificus delirium.” There are, no doubt, many other such fantastic working parts involved in its many varied operations but I am no technician, as the Greeks would say, I am but a humble scribe of what is not to be and has probably never been…

END EXTRACT


#shortstory #fiction #magicalsurrealism #fantasy

FRESH TO THE WORLD

In the center of a man
Lies an unconquered boy
Fresh to the world
Illuminated by God

No matter his age
A dream like an oar
To push him away
Through the Oceans of Life,

On the frontier of a man
Dwells a wild reckless beast
Invisible to all
Illustrated by joy

A hoard of spent treasures
As new in their making
As gold in the minting
That mined them so fair,

In the mind of a man
Move the thoughts of a Titan
Restless in motion
Unchained in his loss

A castle – such vast palace
To claim all the creatures
That measure his conscience
‘Gainst the Wyrd of his Ways,

In the heart of a man
Keeps a count of his future
Aimless Intention
Bound to Ambition
A Marriage – a Calling
Enthralled to the end;

In the hopes of a man
Joined to time and his ventures
Is the strength of his labours
Untarnished by cost

A Tower unweathered
Built once, then forever
To stand at the passage
Where his Fate then is lent,

In the soul of a man
Does the ghost of Lost Heavens
Still haunt the Long Tables
Where the Feasts once were made

Yet the boy never wonders
At the stars or the thunder
For he is unconquered, still
Fresh to the World…

poem #Boy #Youth #Manhood #Writing

Poet’s Note: last night my wife and I had sex. Afterwards I felt like a young man again, and in many ways like a boy. Oh, I never really feel my true age anymore, but this was especially invigorating.

So as my wife slept I got up and wrote this poem.

I hope you enjoy it.

Have a Good Days Folks…

Tacitus and the decline of ancient Roman education

biblonia

The Roman historian Tacitus (c. 56 – c. 120 AD) is well known for his sharp, even-handed criticism of his own society. In his histories, annals and other works, he makes no secret of his deep sense of decadence and decline that Roman society and culture, at the height of its Empire, had attained. Writing in the reign of Emperor Domitian, he looks back, in eloquent horror, on Nero’s horrific rule and on the lives of the first Roman emperors. His tone is not moralistic, but incisive, akin to what Horace, almost a century before him, had described as Italum acetum, meaning Italian mordacity, but literally Italian (non-balsamic) vinegar – a typically Roman feature.

In his Dialogue on Orators, Tacitus sets up a disputation between three men on the question whether oratory had declined since the Republic. Towards the end of the work, there is a discussion about the decadence…

View original post 709 more words

THE GOTH GIRL HAS RABBIT EARS

I started this short story last night after a day-long adventure yesterday with my youngest daughter. She was the inspiration for the story although the main character has been changed around quite a bit, and is really a composite character. This part is the first draft of the introductory section though I shall not post anymore of the story here because I plan to finish writing it and then submit it for publication. Probably, given my other work-loads, in the next couple of weeks.

The Goth Girl Has Rabbit Ears is a phrase I now apply to my youngest daughter and I am thinking I will use it here as both a stand alone short story, and as an on-going idea(l) in my youth/young adult series of books entitled The Totally Random Childhood Adventures of Sweet Katie Awesome.

I hope you enjoy this introduction and that the story interests you.

Have a good weekend folks.

THE GOTH GIRL HAS RABBIT EARS

Her boots were parade issue patent-leather black, her pants were deep sea wine-dark, her blouse was sable and silver and see through near her navel, her hair was jet-black, tousled-curly and plentiful, stretching half-way down her back and partially gathered like an uneven inky crown in a sprouting fountain atop her much-troubled calvaria, her eyes were coal-deep and banners of baffled boredom, her face and arms were sugar-pastry white (they would have been her habitual pasty-white but her father had made her spend at least one hour a day outside over the past week – she insisted she hated that as it unnaturally tanned her), her nails and toes were all painted like raw, dusty slate, except for the one on each hand and foot that was jaundiced yellow, and her blood red lips matched the sanguine, thrice-inscribed rough-cut crystal talisman she wore around her neck.

She also sported a silver-smooth moon amulet on her right wrist and the remains of her grandmother’s old rosary on her left forearm (wrapped tightly there like an antique torc) to ward off those tiresome and insipid boys who thought she “looked cool or sexy.” Sometimes it even worked. To her amazement, her delight, her disbelief, and, of course, her typical regret.

Of all things that she found most distasteful though she hated above everything else to have adventures (as her father liked to call them). How bourgeois and burgher-like she would proclaim any time anyone other than her old man even dared mention “an adventure.”

“I am legally obligated to kill you,” she would nonchalantly exclaim to everyone else “if you even suggest such a thing in my presence.”

Her second favorite declaration at the suggestion of an actual adventure was to look languidly side and slow-eyed at the offender and to announce, “Now we’re gonna fight.” She never did of course, out of an old-fashioned sense of religious and dutiful disinterest. But she did entertain the thought often in her imagination. It made her want to smile and to train for hand to hand combat, though she was very careful to never attempt those things either.

Nevertheless, secretly, and deep in her arcane soul of souls, she loved adventures. She would never admit that out loud to anyone else, or even much to herself, as she disdained the very thought of what to her was “so common.” For her primary mistake in life thus far was to blindly assume that most people like have adventures. Or that they had any interest in them at all. Almost no one does. Not real ones anyway. However she was sure, given her experiences with her father, and a few of her friends, that everyone loved to seek out and execute adventures. And the thought of that made her very uneasy. After all she did not ever want to intentionally appear bourgeois and burgher-like.

She thought, in her obdurate mind of minds, that raves and ecstasy parties and urban slam poetry contests and week-long, anemic semi-political/semi-philosophical Goth vampire games, and hole-in-your-clothes midnight club gigs, and a general disdain for all normal human society just naturally qualified as either a real adventure, or as some kind of higher substitute for the basic human enterprise. Obviously, as you and I know, they are and do not. But she was young and jaded and searching for the cracks in reality and still eating lotus and had attended public school. Much like most modern kids. So you can fairly allow her some leeway if you wish. I did, and still do. After all she’s not a half-bad girl, just a Goth one. And I am her father, whether she likes that or not.

Yet she did have one particular problem which was continual with her and never failed to vex all her personal quests mightily. For, you see, this Goth Girl had rabbit ears.

Now what are Goth Girl Rabbit Ears and what does that phrase even mean when you say it like that you might understandably ask? Well, I could simply tell you and then you would say, “ah-ha! How quaint and clever for a Goth girl!” And you might even be right. But that would never do the phrase any real justice, nor would it in any way truly explain all of the underlying and invisible implications involved. There are many by the way.

So instead I will weave a tale of her for you, much as a lonely nocturnal spider weaves a waiver’s web in the silent night so that when dawn arrives and the sun rises just above the horizon and the dew is still visible to all you can yet see every thread as if it were covered in thick and colorless but transparent honey. The honeyed webs of what has already been written but not yet said. You might say. As the ancient Greeks might have also said. And probably did, even if it went wholly unrecorded. For such threads are both the tightly-woven tapestries of all our old childish nightmares, and the prayers by which we trap and catch the unknown future in ourselves.

And this girl had rabbit ears. So, you see, she heard it from afar and knew it was coming…

Anastasia, Dora, and Sophia – The Resurrection, Gift, and Wisdom of Love

Anastasia, Dora, and Sophia – The Resurrection, Gift, and Wisdom of Love

Last night I entered my first chapbook of poetry for publication. To the Emrys (and I am a member of Emrys, and like and recommend the organization) chapbook contest.

I have never before entered a chapbook (or any book of poetry though I have finished three long books of poetry – over 250 pages each – and probably have material for two or three more) so this was my first entry in that regard.

But using my new marketing and submissions technique I have now submitted over 30 (not counting this book which consisted of twenty poems) separate pieces of literary work, mostly poetry so far, but a short story as well. And that’s just in the past two weeks.

In the hopper to submit in the near future I also have several short stories (mostly science fiction, literary, and children’s stories), loads of poetry, some completed books, various articles, some inventions, two business plans, some scientific papers, a few essays, song-lyrics, and complete songs and musical scores.

As I said my new technique is working out very well indeed as I am submitting for publication at least one work per week-day, sometimes up to five or six per weekday. (A coupla days I was traveling and could not submit.)

As far as this small book is concerned, and they set the compositional and publication standards or it would have been far longer, because it was so compact I decided to make it entirely a book of Love Poetry, though my definition of “love” might be different from that of the norm. There were romantic pieces, Italian sonnets, classical poems, ancient styles, free verse, and even a song for the concluding piece. It was mostly geared towards romance and courtly love, but also included darker pieces and some erotic poetry.

Anastasia, Dora, and Sophia (using the Greek variants of their names) is titled for my wife and two daughters, all of whom have poems in the book, though it also includes far older works, running all the way back to some love Sonnets I wrote in high school.

Anyway, if I win (and I feel that if I don’t that I damn well should, but it is not for me to dictate the tastes of the judge/judges, that’s their call) then I get a grand and a week at a writer’s retreat (apparently expenses are included) in the Appalachian mountains near Greenville (I’m assuming it’s up nears Traveler’s Rest or near the state line).

Never been to a Writer’s Retreat before. To me that would be the very best part of the prize. I would hope it would be a little bit like visiting a monastery (which I really like to do).

Also I like this thing of submitting through Submittable (and most of my entries have been through Submittable). Makes it very easy to track and manage them. Though I handle my end through a loguebook.

One last thing. Yesterday I really racked up for my own library. I bought Libraries in the Ancient World (which should be very helpful with my historical novels generally speaking but especially with the Kithariune) which I got from Robert Jordan’s old personal library. I have purchased many titles from his personal library which I have often mentioned elsewhere. They were also displaying some new volumes of his dealing with ancient history, math, physics, etymology, and even two volumes on Renaissance and Ancient swordfighting techniques (taken from the manuals) which I am anxious to get my hands on and which I think will improve my own swordfighting and maybe even close-in combat techniques.

Then I went down to 2nd and Charles where I got some useful materials and then, in their free bin, scored big by getting the Norton Anthology of English Literature, the Concise Anthology of American Literature, a huge Webster’s Thesarus (which used to be housed in the Navy Library in San Francisco), another Anthology of Ancient Literature (these should all be helpful in my career as an author), three books in Spanish (I’m finding it so easy to read Spanish nowadays that I just decided to take it up as another reading language), The Everything Prayer Book (which looks like it could be useful for my Aesic and Theurgical practices), Food Chemistry (again, helpful for Alchemy, Medicine, and Theurgy), Physical Chemistry, Stryer’s Book on Biochemistry, and Zubay’s textbook (which included the separate Student Solution’s Guide) on Biochemistry.

Although Physics and Epigenetics remain my chief scientific interests and preoccupations my longtime interest in chemistry and biochemistry has returned recently with a vengeance. So I am looking forward to reviewing these books as soon as I can. Probably after the kids get off to college.

Greenville sure has some excellent bookstores.

As a little sidenote while I was looking through the free books an old man came up to me and complimented me taking note of my beard. He asked me how I kept it “tamed” and so well groomed. I told him I really didn’t, it just sorta grow this way and occasionally I trimmed it. (He had a nice beard himself, longer than mine but thought mine nicer.) Anyway we talked beards awhile, made some jokes, I thanked him for his comments on my face and he went on his way. I enjoyed that. Nice fella.

Well, I’d best get at it myself. Stayed up until 0300 working and so got a late start. Lots to do today though, and since it’s only gonna be in the 80s I’m gonna see if I can get Sam to run today (he’s already trotting, and at 13 I’m proud of that but I also think he might be able to run again). Also, given the moderate weather I’m gonna pull my chainsaw out today and see about clearing some land.

Have a good day folks.

LONG LIVE – THE KING IS GONE

LONG LIVE THE KING IS GONE

“Long live, the king is gone
Dark nights, an empty dawn
Where now do I belong – without him?“

 

These lines were running through my head and being sung operatically by a huge crowd and by one man in particular (who had an excellent baritone voice) as I awoke from a dream this morning.

 

My Aesic practices, my practice of Theurgy, and of Raja Yoga, my Psikonic exercises, all have had a very good effect upon my both my dreams and my overall creativity. My dreams especially have again become quite detailed and numinous.

 

Anyway, although the dream was actually about a king I couldn’t help but feel that both in the dream and out of it (on waking) that the song was a metaphor for Christ.

 

This shall make the beginning of a very good choral section for one of the scenes of the libretto I am writing for one of my operas.

By the way I have this particular opera (the one below) by Purcell in my personal music library. I quite like it, especially given it’s age and the time period of its composition.

The vocals and music in my dream were quite different and far darker, stronger, and more melancholy, but still it made me think of it.

Classical anti-classicism

biblonia

For the ancient Romans, the past was dominated by Greece and Greek classicism, just like the Renaissance and most of our modern period were dominated by classical antiquity. In fact, our modern love affair with the classical past and classical authors starts with the Paduan scholar and poet Lovato Lovati (1241–1309). He wrote:

‘Do you despise him [the courageous, classically-minded poet] because he believes that one must follow in the footsteps of the ancient poets or because he subordinates a discourse well-formed with metric rules suited to its subject, lest the word becomes the predominant concern and the subject perish? Or because he mocks the verses of rhythmic compositions [modern poetry for Lovato, medieval for us] where rhyme distorts the meaning?’

Quod sectanda putat veterum vestigia vatum,
Despicis aut metrica quod cogit lege decentem
Sermonem servire rei, ne principe verbo
Res mutata cadat? Quod textus metra canori
Ridet, ubi intentum concinna…

View original post 589 more words

Zeuxis, Parrhasius and the London tube

biblonia

The painting contest between Zeuxis and Parrhasius is well known. Pliny the Elder recounts how the 5th-century BC painters competed for, one might say, photographic realism:

‘[Parrhasius], it is recorded, entered into a competition with Zeuxis, who produced a picture of grapes so successfully represented that birds flew up to the stage-buildings; whereupon Parrhasius himself produced such a realistic picture of a curtain that Zeuxis, proud of the verdict of the birds, requested that the curtain should now be drawn and the picture displayed; and when he realized his mistake, with a modesty that did him honour he yielded up the prize, saying that whereas he had deceived birds Parrhasius had deceived him, an artist.’

descendisse hic in certamen cum Zeuxide traditur et, cum ille detulisset uvas pictas tanto successu, ut in scaenam aves advolarent, ipse detulisse linteum pictum ita veritate repraesentata, ut Zeuxis alitum iudicio tumens flagitaret tandem remoto linteo ostendi…

View original post 160 more words

THE FOUR INHERENTS

Last night and during the early morning hours (from about midnight until 0200 local time) I collected and collated all of my major papers and notes (on the subject of psychology) and began outlining the skeletal form of the Four Inherents, which will be my meisterwerk on psychology.

During the week I tend to primarily (not always, but primarily) work upon my novels, short stories, poetry, songs, musical compositions, and business and entrepreneurial projects. I also tend to travel, train (physically and for skill improvement or acquisition), and socialize, and clear land during the week.

But during the weekends I tend to recreate, tend my estate, and work on my inventions, scientific experiments, practice Theurgy, and work on my non-fiction writings.

Lately I have been doing a lot of work on the weekends on what I call my Seminal Works (my primary written life-works, in this case my non-fiction works), such as: the Anassanon (theology), Empiricum Experimentalis (science, technology, innovation, invention), Genius, Muse, and Enthusiasm (literature, music, and art), Apographics, The Great Enterprise (business, investment, capitalism, economics, and entrepreneurism), the Chimerikon (politics and untruth), the Theophilos (a series of instructive and pragmatic works on Christianity and modern man), Cure and Eminence (health, medicine, and physicks – in the ancient sense), the Didactions (self-education and the life-long Renaissance Program), the Holon (philosophy), and of course, the Four Inherents (psychology), which I am discussing here.

I will of course write other books covering the various fields of psychology, such as a book I plan on my own Theory of Personality (going back to my days in college and my work with a Russian psychologist), and Cure and Eminence will deal directly with psychology (in part), while many of my other works (such as the Holon) will indirectly touch upon psychology as warranted.

But The Four Inherents will be my magnum-opus in the field of psychology.

That being said you will find the skeletal contents outline of the book below (as I now envision it), though that will no doubt change over time as I add things to the book and better arrange and organize it. This is just the first draft of the Table of Contents.

Have a good and productive day folks. And enjoy much success.

_______________________________________________

THE FOUR INHERENTS: PSYCHE, SOMA, NOUS, AND PNEUMA

The Human Inherencies

Pneuma
Soma
Nous
Psyche
Nature
Character
Personality
Behavior

The Drives of Man

Arête
Kratos
Thumos
Telos (Teleos)
Exousios
Virtues
Liturgos
Theurgos

Disease and Disorder

Psychological Disorder
Psychological Disease
Psychopathosis and Human Psychopathogens
Diagnosis and Diagnossos

Personality: The Conditional States and Their Outlooks and Influences on Human Behavior *

The Subnormal Person
The Normal Person
The Abnormal Person
The Supernormal Person

Sthenosos and the Psyche

Sthenotic Psychology
Sthenotic Somation
Sthenousos (The Sthenotic Mind)
The Sthenotic Psyche
Sthepneumos (The Sthenotic Spirit)

Epipsychosos and Psychological Self-Manipulation

Epipsychosos
The Epipsychic Man
Auto-Didaction
Auto-Didaction as a means of Beneficial Self-Manipulation
Epipsychosos as a means of Self-Advancement and Self-Improvement
Meaning and Action/Activity

The Reality and Weight of Human and Psychological Evil

Ghosts of the gods (Ghosts of Dread Flesh)^

The Archetypal Imperative

Intelligence and the Psyche

Mnemonics and the Mind

Genius and the Polyman

Behavior and Nature

Traits and Influences

Wyrd and Fate

Manhood and Womanhood

Human Happiness

Man as a Created Being

Man as a Self-Made Creature

Psychological Self-Discipline and Self-Possession

Psychotherapeutos *

Biopsychosis: Reliance and Refinement

Theopsychosis: Expectations and Limitations

The Theonic Impulses

Theosos
Apotheosos
Individualization

Christopsychosos

The Construct of the Human Being

The Hypopolinic and Hyperpolenic Influences

The Weltanschatten: the World-Shadow
Urbanis: The Corruption of the Urbanized Man and his Corrupting Worldview of Life
Strenuosos: The Strenuous and Virtuous Life and the Rural Man
Ambiversion: The Desirable State of Personality
Poliperversion: The polis and politics as perversions of the true Nature and States of Man
Sociosis: the Enslavement of the Individual to the Group and to Society
Sanscivilis and Vero-Civitos: The Social Impulse as a counter-civilizing motivation, and the Nature of True Civility in the Self-Possessed Individual
Chivalry and Charis
Malignosis: The juvenile tendency of mankind and of modern men to become enamored of malignant and homicidal and suicidal psychological states, societies, philosophies, and political impulses
Auto-absorption versus Self-Realization: the pathetic and bathetic self-absorption of modern men versus the benevolent impulse to Self-Realization
The Ancient Man, the Medieval Man, and the Modern Man as Psychological Types
Self-Improvement: assets, liabilities, and the detrimental effects of pop-psychology on the individual and upon society
Psychoptropics and the Serpentine Underbelly of the Psychiatric Chemical and Drug Culture

Methods of Altering and Improving the Psyche

Gamos (marriage of the Psyche to High Endeavours, Objectives, and Virtues)
Gamosos (gaming the Psyche)
Athletopsychosos (training the Psyche)
Mythopsychosos
Objectivization (objectivising the Psyche)
Active and Passive Psychomanipulation (the active and passive self-manipulation of both beneficial and malignant psychological traits)
Histyriopsychosos (the historical and lifelong development of the Individual Psyche)
Psikonics
Analytic and Forensic Methodologies
Logical and Mathematical Methodologies
Philosophical Methodologies
Religious Methodologies
Epipsychosos

The Real Superman

The Psychological Equations and Useful Orders of Human Behavior

 

THE GHOSTS OF DREAD FLESH: Ghosts of the gods

THE GHOSTS OF DREAD FLESH

I know I’ve probably mentioned this before but the older I get and the more I study ancient and pagan myth (and I’ve studied them since I was a teenager, and a lot in college when I majored in religion and philosophy) the more firmly convinced I am that myth was not a religion or religion at all (certainly not as we think of religions) but was actually proto-psychology and in some rare cases, primitive observations on natural phenomenon (proto-natural-science).

All of the pagan “gods and goddesses” were far too human to be anything other than psychological (psuche – soul, as the Greeks would say) observations upon human nature and the human soul. Plus all pagan “gods and pantheons” tended to behave abysmally, at least from time to time and as the mood struck them, with even the chiefs of gods being immoral at a whim, or at the very least amoral. And the more “moral gods” were almost universally relegated to background or secondary positions of no real power (other than that of cunning and craft). Precisely why Socrates could not believe in the gods and preferred his conception of God.

No, the ancient pagan gods were all soul-gods, that is to say “human gods” not spiritual gods at all, as we would think of God.

(That meaning a Real God who supersedes his Creation and who supersedes human behavior by being absolutely moral. Though the Norse gods and goddesses tended to be far more moral than let’s say the Greek or Asiatic ones and I think that to a large degree this was precisely because of the fact that they knew they were doomed and would be called to account at the Ragnarök. They knew they were limited in lifespan, they had no illusions that they were either omniscient or omnipotent, and they knew they would be eventually destroyed and replaced. It was hard-wired into their very prophecies and that kind of thing tends to often act as a governor against immorality – intentional malignance, and against amorality – not caring one way or another.)

When pagan myths were not proto-psychology they were observations on natural phenomenon and on things that could not be explained by a very limited proto-science, such as Chimeras.

No, over time I’ve come to realize that the ancient and pagan gods were real alright, and are still real, just not as really having anything to do with religion or the spiritual or God at all. They were real as proto-psychology, not as religion, and later and even today they have been largely absorbed into modern psychology as archetypes of human behavior and as exemplars of the human soul. But not of the Spirit. They are the Ghosts of Dread Flesh, not the Holy Ghost.

And this is why I think, that relatively speaking, they were later so easily overturned by and replaced by religions (like Judaism and Christianity and even to some extent by Hinduism and Buddhism – though Buddha himself was an atheist, so again, it depends very much upon your definition of “religion”), and that is because, as much as I like and respect the Psyche, it is very small and limited in relation to the Spirit, and to God.

The gods were absorbed into psychology (which still serves a very important function, just not a religious and spiritual one), because in fact, that’s what they were – soul-gods, and replaced by God, the Spirit-Lord, against whom no soul-god can really compete or is really qualified to compete.

Just as no man can compete against God, he can only ally himself with God and seek a beneficial relationship, or reject and rebel against God.

(I’d go ahead and turn this into a decent essay but I’m pressed for time right now with my novel and with my other works. Maybe later. Though I may also turn this idea into a lecture, and/or add the concept as a chapter to be included in my Meisterwerk on Psychology, The Four Inherents.)

WHAT DOES IT MATTER?

“When you’re young you’re naïve enough to think everything is about your own personal ideals and view of the world. When you grow up you become experienced enough to think everything is about the way the world actually operates. When you become old and truly wise you come to understand that the world is about both your own personal ideals and the way the world actually operates, and what you can do to make both work together cleverly enough to transform things into the Kingdom of God.

For what does it matter if your ideals are all perfect and yet the world is still broken, or if you’ve perfectly mastered the ways of the world, and it is still but a cesspool of wrong?”

from Memorable Literary Lines

_________________________________________________

Great morning. I’m listening to Buddy Holly and the Crickets while I work.

Love that Midnight Shift

 

THE SHIP OF A MILLION YEARS

Tome and Tomb

He’s got a point… the Thesean dilemma is true of all things that maintain at least some sense of their (original) integrity, even men.

But this gives me an idea for a science-fiction short story. About a ship whose components are gradually and intentionally replaced over time by new components of the exact same shape, design, and dimensions but with vastly different and more complex capabilities.

Adaptive pre-programmed (improvable future) design is one of the basic core principles of my personal method of design and invention.

View original post

ANOTHER GOD AWFUL GOOD DAY – AND THE RETURN OF THE MANTICORE

The Missal

Had another God awfully (in the true sense of the term God-awe-full) good and profitable. Plus it was an enormously fun day. This has become my consistent habit.

While I traveled today I finished up my lecture series on Ancient Religion in the Mediterranean World and then listened (or re-listened, haven’t heard it since I was in my twenties) to the First disc of Return of the Manticore, which was excellent indeed.

I really, really like progressive Rock groups, especially those that derive much of their work through adaptation of ancient, art, classical, and folk music, scores, and sources, as does ELP.

Plus I was able to score several truly useful treasures today including adding to my personal library two of the works formerly held in the library of Robert Jordan (really regret never meeting him, and a real shame too since he was a fellow South Carolinian and…

View original post 238 more words

OLDEST ODYSSEY

Homer Odyssey: Oldest extract discovered on clay tablet

• 10 July 2018

Image copyrightEPA

A clay tablet discovered during an archaeological dig may be the oldest written record of Homer’s epic tale, the Odyssey, ever found in Greece, the country’s culture ministry has said.

Found near the ruined Temple of Zeus in the ancient city of Olympia, the tablet has been dated to Roman times.

It is engraved with 13 verses from the poem recounting the adventures of the hero Odysseus after the fall of Troy.

The tale was probably composed by Homer in the late 8th Century BC.

It would have been handed down in an oral tradition for hundreds of years before the tablet was inscribed.

The exact date of the tablet still needed to be confirmed, but its discovery was “a great archaeological, epigraphic, literary and historical exhibit”, the Greek culture ministry said in a statement.

Excavations to uncover the tablet took three years.

The Odyssey is widely considered to be a seminal work in Western literature.

The poem, spanning some 12,000 lines, tells the story of Odysseus, king of Ithaca, who spends 10 years trying to get home after participating in the fall of the kingdom of Troy.

The tablet, discovered by Greek and German researchers, contains 13 verses from the Odyssey’s 14th Rhapsody, in which Odysseus addresses his lifelong friend Eumaeus.

THE MAGUS

THE VANIR

I love to hear Jackson Crawford speak about such subjects (the Nordic peoples, the Vikings, the sagas, the Eddas, the Norse gods, etc.). He is a superb lecturer, and one of my very favorite modern professors.

 

Scribes, illuminators, manuscripts in Baudri de Bourgueil’s poems

nice

biblonia

Medieval texts explaining how manuscripts are (to be) decorated are rare. Works detailing how manuscripts that have come down to us have been adorned are rarissimi. The techniques of medieval illumination are known nearly exclusively from the appearance of the manuscripts themselves. No treatise or textbook dealing with decoration, painting or illumination has survived, and there is no evidence to my knowledge that any such treatise has ever been written. Medieval authors occasionally give us some details of script, decoration, format of manuscripts they encounter, but these are neither comprehensive nor very helpful in identifying the actual volumes. For identification, scholars have to rely on things like hand-lists and library registers. In other words, they rely on identifiable texts and, sometimes, general format, not on any visual peculiarities, like details of decoration, colours of initials, layout, illuminations, etc.

In this galaxy of relative decorative darkness, the poems of Baudri…

View original post 1,507 more words

WHAT I AM READING AND LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW FOR PERSONAL INTEREST AND/OR FOR RESEARCH

WHAT I AM READING AND LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW FOR PERSONAL INTEREST AND/OR FOR RESEARCH

5/23/18

Books:

The Bible – continuing my comparative study in the original languages between the Old and New Testaments

The Other Bible – supplemental to my scripture studies

The Quantum Labyrinth

The Ascent of Gravity

The Rise and Fall of Alexandria

The 10 Minute Millionaire – research, he has a very interesting trading technique I want to test for myself once I extract the entire formula

The Oxford Book of Medieval English Verse

The Mathematics Bible

The Philokalia: Volume 4 – rereading it for about the 6th time

The Complete Enchanter – De Camp and Pratt

20 Centuries of Great Preaching – research for my own sermons, right now I’m studying the sermons of Saint Chyrsostum

Primitive Christianity: The Library of Religious and Philosophical Thought – right now I’m studying the Theraputae and the Essenes since I’m already listening to lecture on the Dead Sea Scrolls (see below)

Grimoires: A History of Magic Books – I’m seeing if there are any important or worthwhile books of/on magic, either Ancient or Medieval, that are missing from my own library or that I should obtain and read

Lectures:

The Grandeur that was Rome – superb! She is a great professor

The Dead Sea Scrolls – Schiffman, the professor, NYU, has an absolutely fascinating set of theories, such as: that the Essenes were really established by a splinter group of Sadducees (Sons of Zadok), not Pharisees, though they became something completely different, that the Essenes were actually a lay group of the sect established all throughout Israel and in Jewish communities elsewhere (Africa and Asia for instance) and that the Qumran community were the actual “monks” of the Essenes, that the Teacher of Righteousness completely changed the sect, etc, etc. Many of these theories go against conventional wisdom but his evidence is fascinating and compelling, though much of it is negative, that is he eliminates competing theories based on what could have not possibly been, and then deduces his arguments based on the most likely alternatives. I’m really thinking hard on his premises.

Turing’s Cathedral – not really a lecture, but a book on CD which is entirely fascinating and extremely useful, not just as research but because I love these subject matters; math, computing, machine intelligence, engineering, invention, codes and crypts.

Religion in the Ancient Mediterranean World – the professor, Holland, at Allegheny, gives a superb set of lectures on Mithra, Isis, the other Mystery Religions of the period, the Republican cults of Rome, the Jews, the early Christians, and a great one on Roman Divination and Jewish prophecy and seerage with definitions I have never heard before (insight, not foresight) versus Free Will. Anyway they have inspired me to adopt some of these concepts into my own religious practice, especially a Christian modification on Divination through the Holy Spirit and to add certain of these premises into my own books and practices of the Theophilos/Theophilon.

Music:

Symphonies No. 8 (the Unfinished) one of my very favorite symphonies, and No.9 by Schubert

Howling Wolf: The Real Folk Blues – very good

Magazines and Graphic Novels:

Machine Design

Backpacker

Men’s Health

Forbes

Popular Mechanics

Outside

Discover

Science News

Ancient Warfare

Make

Daredevil: Chinatown

Batman Eternal

Films:

Rememory – a small, quiet but very worthwhile little film with Peter Dinklage. He really is a superb actor. And I don’t care much for most actors. But very worth seeing and I highly recommend it.

It inspired me, in part, to write That Island on the Sea of Loss

____________________________________________________

 

Works I have recently added to my own library:

Books:

As I have already stated I have recently been able to add several volumes to my personal library from the one-time library of Robert Jordan. Unfortunately Jordan did not make personal notes in his books (as I tend to do) he kept them in pristine condition. Nevertheless just owning them gives me great hope about my own career as a fiction author, although mostly I purchased works of non-fiction from his library. Just to look at and study his library I have to say I would have likely got on very well with the man. His library was filled with collections of history (he had numerous volumes on the Greeks and three on Greek Fire alone), Indians, magic (unfortunately they were apparently just research summations about pagan religion, not real magic, probably for his novels), detective work and skip tracing and manhunting (interesting but not worth my time, my own techniques are superior and far more evolved, those works were from the 1970s or so), warfare (a very good collection), science (he was after all a physicist and nuclear engineer), religion, Christianity, Western Civilization, math, music, etc. the man was a bit of a polymath and I regret not knowing him personally.

Anyway the books I added to my library from his include:

The World of Mathematics – I bought all four volumes, and am really looking forward to these

The Tain – the Irish epic

The Opticks by Sir Issac Newton (the Principia has a high place in ym library, but I didn’t have a copy of the Opticks and now I have Jordan’s copy.) The last time I read the Opticks was in college, so looking forward to this too.

And three books by Keith Laumer. Apparently we were both big fans of the works of Laumer. I got Timetracks, Bolo, and Honor of the Regiment (also Bolo), and the edition of Bolo I obtained is the exact same one I had as a kid (which my mother probably disposed of while I was in college).

So I have recovered my original copy of Bolo. (I play Ogre, also based on BOLO, often by the way).

The other books I got from him I’ll not mention. I’ll take up reading these works as soon as my reading schedule clears.

In addition I added these books to my library

Max Born – the autobiography

Arts of Russia, and

Art Treasures of the Peking Museum – I’m going to take up Ikon painting and pen and ink again. So these are for inspiration.

Music:

Symphonies 8 and 9 by Schubert

Symphony No. 7 Mahler

The near complete works of Henri Purcell

Well, that’s it for now.

Have a great day folks…

Free Speech Upon the Rock Above the City: re-wording John Milton

via Free Speech Upon the Rock Above the City: re-wording John Milton

THE VIPER

THE VIPER (first draft of scene)

Maugham walked back over to Steinthal.

Steinthal asked him, “Who is that?”

Maugham was uncharacteristically blunt, and voluble.

“That is the toughest son of a bitch I’ve ever met in my life,” he told him.

Steinthal almost flinched. He had never met anyone tougher than Maugham and wasn’t much sure he liked the idea.

“Also,” Maugham went on almost to the point of being prolix (for him anyway), “he is meaner than hell and he may even be your equal in cunning and craft.”

Steinthal whistled appreciatively, just barely above the whisp of a dog-whistle. He looked hard at the man Maugham had just been conversing with when suddenly the guy looked over at him. Had he heard Steinthal’s whistle? Steinthal wondered if that was even possible.

The guy rose up from his table and just stood there, unmoving. Was he waiting, just watching, or coiling? He was short, shorter than Steinthal, and wiry, with cords of muscles that stood out up and down his neck. He had a couple of facial scars, one a long straight slice and the other maybe a burn, and sported a multiply broken nose and the look of a man who had been stabbed a few times to the point of aggravation.

He was dressed so that you couldn’t tell if he was a day laborer or an informant. Or both. His clothes looked washed out, as if they could fade smoothly into the backgorund, and like they didn’t quite fit. Or he did. Or both. He carried himself as if he could have been concealing no weapons, or any number of them.

He looked directly at Steinthal and he smiled, only it wasn’t really a smile. It was more like when a snake’s jaw unhinges and its flat lips curl back to swallow something. Steinthal wasn’t really sure if that was for his benefit alone, or just directed at the world in general, but whatever the intent it was threatening, and patiently sibilant – all at once. And about as creepy and surreal a disposition to strike as possible for anything shaped like a man.

Steinthal looked at Maugham and Maugham looked at him.

“Do you know this guy?” Steitnhal asked.

“Yeah,” Maugham said, in his typically taciturn manner.

“Know him well?” Steinthal asked again.

“Well enough,” Maugham replied.

“How?” Steinthal said seriously, more in the way of an interrogation than a friendly question.

Maugham shook his head like a bull being called in from the field. Steinthal knew that that meant and just nodded.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” said Maugham. “When we first met I thought you might be related.”

Steinthal furrowed his brow. Steinthal raised his hand horizontally so that his forefinger pointed at Maugham and his thumb pointed back at himself.

“You thought we might be related?”

“No,” Maugham said flatly. “I thought that you two might be related. Why I didn’t kill you immediately.”

“You didn’t kill me because you happen to like this guy?” Steinthal asked, fishing for the reason.

“No,” Maugham said shaking his head as if the question were silly and somehow self-negating. “I didn’t kill you because if you two were related then I wasn’t absolutely sure I could.”

Steinthal nodded, accepting the comment, but was doubtful that was the whole story. It was Maugham though, so what could ya really do?

Then Steinthal looked back over at the stranger. For all he knew the guy was still breathing, but if he was then he showed no signs.
Inside his own mind Steinthal shook his head while watching the guy, but as far as anyone else knew he just stared silently at the stranger.

“Why’d you set this up Maugham?” Steinthal asked. “Couldn’t have been easy to get him to play along.”

“He’s not playing,” Maugham replied. “And no, it wasn’t. But I thought that maybe, just this once, we could use him.”

Inside his own mind Steinthal nodded, but to Maugham he shook his head so that no one else would notice.

“So,” Steinthal asked. “What do I call it?”

“You don’t,” Maugham answered. And it didn’t seem contrived at all.

“Well then, should I approach it, or let it approach me?”

“Yes,” Maugham said. “That should work.”

Steinthal nodded still intently studying the other man.

“Well then,” Steinthal finally said. “Best clear the room. If we’re gonna see what happens.”

But when Maugham made no reply, and Steinthal glanced over to check on him, Maugham was already gone. And when he turned back to look for the other guy the other guy was already in his face.

ANYBODY

ANYBODY

“Anybody can be ambushed,” Steinthal told her. “By some evil-souled, sneaky, cowardly little sonuvabitch. That is never the victim’s fault. However being naive enough to think that you will never be ambushed, or reckless enough to never prepare for the possibility, that is the victim’s fault. By victim I mean you,” he said pointing directly at her.

“You just got lucky tonight my dear. And that’s good, but that’s all. Cause luck ain’t a plan and there ain’t much of a future in habitual bad habit. So learn from this mess. And next time you be ready to do the killing. Understand?”

She nodded slowly and then looked up at him.

“I understand,” she said.

“Good,” he said. “Because that was the point.”

from The Detective Steinthal

HOW MEDIEVAL THEURGY WENT COMPLETELY WRONG AND HOW I INTEND TO CURE THAT

Recently I have been reading The Sacred Magic of Abra Melin the Mage, one of the seminal texts on Theurgy and magic from the Medieval Ages. I have a personal library of many of these texts and this book is one of my favorites.

However it also highlights one (or even some) of the great failings of Medieval Theurgy and related forms of “magic.” And as many of you know I have a very different definition of magic than is the popular conception. Which I won’t detail here as it is described in my other writings on the subject and in the books I intend to publish on the matter.

But to return to the question at hand: The failure(s) inherent in Medieval Magic.

Before I describe that however (or one of the two most glaring ones) I must say what Medieval Theurgy actually got right.

First that all “magic” is really theologically and supernaturally based (and this has been the case and the basic conception of Magic throughout human history, up until very recently, Magic is not the result of a parallel force or inanimate source of “magical” energy running parallel to the natural sciences), secondly that natural sciences used to be a part of magic (until it split away and became its own discipline and concern), and thirdly that Theurgy should concern itself primarily with understanding both the world (as it actually exists) and how God created the world to exist in that way, and why. The Fourth conception, the one I will mainly address, that there are Good Beings and evil beings (other than human beings) that exist in the cosmos (regardless of the fact of whether or how often they interact with men) is a point I shall address in a moment.

That is what Medieval Theurgy got right.

Where it went off course, and in this case badly so, is in a related idea but a wholly different sort of practice.

Medieval Theurgy was big on the invocation and summoning of Angels and benevolent spirits, a development hearkening back to ancient times and one I think that was primarily positive. However it was also big on the summoning and invocation of demons and harmful and malignant spirits.

Here are my basic problems with that suspect concept. The summoning of Good Spirits and Angels (those who remained faithful to God, to God’s morality, or were in direct contact with God) is to me primarily a good thing. Medieval Theurgists summoned angels to converse with, to seek advice from, to have transmitted to them God’s Will, to have prophecy or scripture explained to them, to seek to understand the physical universe and creation, to have various phenomena explained to them, to have dreams and visions interpreted, to receive moral guidance, to be healed of injury and illness, to be protected from evil or disaster, etc. All of the things commonly associated with angelic beings in Scripture.

All of this I applaud and think very positive. I wish more people tried this kind of thing nowadays.

Two important side-notes however: I think Medieval Theurgists erred in thinking that simply by employing certain techniques or rituals that they would be able to automatically invoke, evoke, or summon angels (or any other kind of being) and have them respond almost mechanically to such a summons. That is a very juvenile and even idiotic assumption in my opinion. First of angels, like any other creature or being, has a free will. This is obvious and self-evident or none of them would have ever rebelled against God. And secondly if a Theurgist sought advice or action contrary to the Will of God (which I think is very flexible by the way) or malignant in some way then no angel is required to respond in any way.

The second side-note I would make is that God, being the Prime Source of All Things, including Being itself (not to mention angels and creatures), well, God should always be your first point of contact. That just seems self-evident to me – always first seek the Prime Source, not any secondary or tertiary force. And if you can communicate with and/or more importantly understand the Prime Source (which will not always be the case) then stick with that, and if not, then seek other assistance.

And to a Christian the Holy Spirit should always be your first “Being of Consultation, Explanation, and Guidance.” Angels are almost superfluous as a result of this condition and this Being, except as Allies, if direct communication with God and direct Guidance by the Holy Spirit is possible. However I am also well aware of the fact that there are times when it is very difficult to properly discern the will or intent of God, and it seems as if the Guidance of the Holy Spirit in uncertain or confused (if only in our own personal reception or interpretations of what is trying to be communicated to us). So one should always seek Theurgic Communication first with God, and then only if confused, lost, or uncertain, with Godly allies or assistants. Though I also think angels make extremely good allies and will do their very best to truthfully explain and expound upon God’s Will and Nature as they understand it, though no-one fully understands the full Will of God but God Himself.

But all of that being said, and with the caveats explained above, I am in no way hostile to communication with and alliance with angelic and good spirits. Just don’t expect them to be automatons or servile in any fashion or just waiting around to serve you like a paid employee or worse, like a slave. They have an existence independent of you just as your human friends and allies do. They are obligated to you and in service to you in the same way your human friends and allies are, meaning, of course, it is a two-way street of mutual respect and benefit.

But where the Medieval Theurgist really went off track is with the practice of invoking, evoking, and summoning of demons and malignant spirits.

Let me explain the basic idea and concept involved in this odd practice. The ancients (in the West anyway) had an idea of spirits that revolved around the Greek term daemon, which basically meant “spirit.” Now a dameon could be either good or bad, and often was both. Though some tended to be mostly benign and some tended to be mostly malignant. But all were capable of both aspects of behavior, just as one might think of a human being or human companion. In other words a daemon was just like a pagan god (only less powerful for the most part) and open to capriciousness and emotionalism (it was not driven by a Universal or Inherent system of logic and morality, as our concept of God, but only by temporal circumstance or relativistic morality) just as the ancient pagan gods were.

By the Middle Ages, especially with the advent and ascendancy of Christianity and Judaism (and the Triumph of a Monotheistic God who is bound by his own sense of Morality and Virtue) that notion had become split into the idea of angel (being Good Spirits) and demons (being bad or evil or malignant spirits) and of a whole race of beings directly tied to Virtue and another whole race of beings decidedly and intentionally tied to vice. There were also other and more complicated notions involved such as Spirits that were a specific aspect of God’s Nature or of specific Godly Virtues but let’s leave that aside, as it is not germane to the current discussion.

(As a personal sidenote I should also say that I am of the opinion that there are sprits that are open to both good and ill, as are human beings, and that there are specific classes or races of Beings who are definitely and definitively good, such as Angels – a parallel case among men being Saints – and races and classes of beings dedicated to evil for their own reasons, such as is the case with some men – serial killers, habitual violent criminals, tyrants, warlords, terrorists, and so forth.)

In any case the general Medieval idea was that it was acceptable to invoke, evoke, and summon demons or malignant spirits as long as they were carefully controlled, and that the techniques used to control these beings or entities were the same techniques employed by angels and God to control them. That’s a very nice sounding theory, in theory.

My problem with that theory though is threefold. First of all demons and malignant spirits are obviously possessed of their own free will. Or they would not have and could not have revolted or rebelled against God. Secondly even if they could be controlled by some technique or in some fashion then there is no reason to not suspect that at the very least such a spirit would surely attempt sabotage of the aims of the summoner, or would most certainly attempt deception and misdirection in the execution of any “orders or commands” given it by such a summoner. Third I do not believe it is any more possible to gain summoning (or actionable) control over a demon than it would be to gain summoning control over an angel. Each kind of being has an existence beyond us and is not in any way open to manipulation or control unless they voluntarily decide to grant such a thing to another. It seems far more likely and far more logical to conclude that a demon would seek to gain control over another (forced or pact-ful or agreed upon possession) than to voluntarily grant control to another over itself. It is simply illogical to conclude that malignancy exists to allow itself to be enslaved for the purposes of third-party control.

(By the way one of the true differences between the Medieval Magician, Wizard, or Theurgist, and the Medieval Sorcerer or Warlock – and to a certain degree the Medieval Witch – was on this very point. The Theurgist or Magician believed that demons were bad but could be controlled and forced to “do good” through the agency and techniques of the summoner. The magician or Theurgist made “no pact or agreement” – other than demands and commands – with the demon but rather sought control or enslavement of the same.

The Sorcerer or Warlock, on the other hand, did seek to make pacts with such beings in exchange for personal power, wealth, or desire fulfilment. The Medieval Magician believed in alliance with angels but control of demons, the sorcerer or warlock in alliance or pacts with demons – for personal gain – and often in order to harm enemies or to exercise his own personal malignancies or evils, and in opposition to the commandments of God. It is a real and distinct difference, of course, but in all practicality it seems an extremely subtle, and pragmatically speaking, a superficial one. Yes, personally I also would like to be able to control evil and force it to do good. Merely because I so will it. But is that, in itself, not also a form of evil and enslavement, and far more to the point, could I really trust in the results or validity of such an enslavement? Even if I could “successfully” enslave evil, if it were truly evil, could I ever then entrust it? I am extremely doubtful I could. I suspect that this may be one reason God does not seek to enslave evil either. It’s just speculation on my part, but it seems reasonable to me. God could never trust enslaved evil. And neither can I. Though I would see it destroyed.)

Which brings me to my last point in this matter. Whereas I do believe that God can control anything if he so wishes, and that no demon is really a match (on a one to one basis) for most angels or for a Saint or even most truly determined good men (that is to say demons are limited in their power and scope and do not possess the ability to control angels or even men unless this is done willingly or in fear or ignorance on the part of the man) this is not to say that demons are powerless or helpless or under the subjugated control of others. That is to say that God confines the abilities possessed by a demon but he does not enslave demons (force them under his control, rather they fear him if he is provoked and can exercise no natural power over him) or he would have enslaved them already and long ago. If God was in the enslavement business (and he is certainly not, even if that seems illogical towards evil) then he would have reduced demons to mere robotic automata long ago and resolved evil in that way. He could, if he so desired, simply enslave or destroy evil and evil beings and creatures, but he does not, he merely confines them in some ways.

That being the case it makes no sense at all to me to have any truck with any being (or creature) that one knows to be habitually and intentionally evil. At the very best you could only exercise an untrustworthy, suspicious, and limited form of semi-confinement against their natural impulse to do wrong, with the likely sabotage of your true objectives to closely follow, and at the worst you would become the unwitting or willful subject of the manipulations and deceptions of such a malignant being.

Why then attempt such a reckless course as communication and truck with demons?

Well, I think for two reasons. First of all many Jewish Theurgical texts, whereas warning about such dangers, had an idea of demons that lay somewhere between the ancient pagan one of daemons (spirits being both good and bad) and the Christian conception of a demon that is wholly malignant. That is the Jewish Theurgists and magicians and Qabalists and even rabbis understood that demons are malignant (and warned of this fact often) but still felt they could be controlled with the proper techniques or knowledge. And perhaps they are, to a very few, but I have no interest or desire to test this presupposition for myself. I am too naturally suspicious and repelled by the aims of evil. So whereas I do not fear demons or malignant spirits I also have no interest in them and would rather avoid them or if necessary simply cast them away, banish, or exorcise them.

Many Christian Theurgists though, many, but not all, (some were influenced by the Jewish Theurgists and others – and by the way not all Jewish Theurgists thought it wise to consort with demonic forces or beings either) said simply that you should avoid them, abjure them, or eschew and cast them away as a source of power or trustworthy information.

(Or, as Isaac Asimov once wrote in a science fiction story I read as a kid – when the Devil came to his story character to bargain for his soul in exchange for power and long life and what the man most desired, that character replied,

“Why should I bargain with you for long life and success and power and my desires? I shall have all of those things anyway due to my own efforts and with the assistance of God. It will take long but I will owe you nothing in exchange and there will be no real cost to me other than that of patience.”

Indeed. My thoughts exactly. I am paraphrasing the reply of course; I don’t have that old story in front of me. But that was the gist of the response.)

In any case these types of theurgists (those who thought you could control demons or malignant spirits) wanted to control such beings as essentially “forced or enslaved labor.” To do Work. To execute commands and to grant favors. To accumulate wealth or power for the Theurgist. Now even if you wish to do this and your motives and aims are entirely good and beneficial you still face the very daunting and real problems I outlined above.

But even the Medieval Theurgists knew that you could not force an Angel to “do your bidding,” no matter how beneficial your bidding might be. At best you could only request the assistance of an angel (which is fine by me, I cannot force another human being to assist me either, and I cannot force God to act on my behalf, only request such assistance, but that is fully acceptable to me as a fact of life) but you could not “enforce servitude.” But many Medieval Theurgists did believe you could force or enslave a malignant spirit to do as you wished.

Or put more simply, angels and other such allies were for Information (guidance, discernment, and Wisdom), but malignant spirits could be employed for Action (forced or enslaved labor against which they would be powerless to resist).

I think that is a mistake in both cases. You cannot really force demons to “do your bidding” (be it for good or ill – without facing the difficulties described above)) and it is a mistake to think of angels as “Intel only” and not as agents of Action, though the assistance would be voluntarily granted, not given by command.

Nevertheless there were Medieval Theurgists who thought you could control demons and that it was the actions of these enslaved spirits who accounted for the Actions or achievements (or “workings”) of Theurgy.

I think those two propositions and ideas to be entirely in error and wholly wrong in conceptualization.

I think rather that the true motive force or the actions of Theurgy are not achieved by enslaved spirits, but rather by the manipulations of beneficial probability forces (the best possible outcome being caused by the best possible set of operational principles functioning at optimal capacities in each circumstance) within the field of all quantum possibilities. I also think that God and angels willingly assist in these efforts no matter how they are undertaken (by mechanical work, by science, by prayer, by theurgy, by thaumaturgy, etc.), but that these efforts are never willingly undertaken by demons or malignant beings or creatures because evil and malignant beings desire the very opposite outcomes. Not the best possible outcome, but the worst, or the most disastrous or destructive, or at the very least a decided corruption of the best possibilities.

Therefore my personal practice of Theurgy will involve and has involved seeking the best possible outcome in every circumstance (as an operational principle of Theurgy) and will involve benevolent alliances and contact with beneficial allies and forces and beings and creatures. That is to say that I do believe that there is a parallel force to the Natural (or put another way – the Mechanical) Sciences (of which I am a very big proponent) but not that it is demonically or supernaturally based (though I do have great faith in the supernatural, depending on how you define the term) but rather that it is based upon the operational field of Quantum Mechanics – with the underlying intent being, “the best possible and most beneficial and benevolent outcome in every possible circumstance or set of circumstances”).

On the other hand I will eschew and discourage any contact or involvement with malignant beings or forces as I think of them (with good and logical evidence) as sources of curses, not Blessings, and of failure and harm and malignant probabilities, not Success and Benefit and Benevolent Probabilities.

__________________________________

Being a practicing Christian Theurgist I had intended to write this essay some time ago, but delayed doing so as I wanted to go back and re-read some of the Medieval texts I had read long ago.

Now that I have done so, and now that I have written this essay I think that I may very well adapt it and use it as an introduction to my book The Christian Wizard (or Theurgist or Genius).

Anyway I hope you enjoyed this essay and found it useful.

WHAT I NOW DO ON THE WEEKENDS

WHAT I NOW DO ON THE WEEKENDS

How and Why My Weekends Are Now Totally Different

I used to save my weekends for my entertainments. Watching TV and occasionally (very occasionally) playing video games, or just sitting around and relaxing. Because I don’t do these things during the week. Occasionally I’d also go somewhere, like to a movie. Or a bookstore, or library, or I’d work on one of my novels or books. The idea being that I used my weekends for relaxation and entertainment.

Now I have a totally different weekend routine and schedule.

Why?

Because I realized that my weekends were not advancing me. At all. As a matter of fact they often allowed me to regress in my progress so that come Monday I often had to intensify my efforts to make up for lost productivity or advancement on the weekends.

I used to think my weekends were for entertainment and relaxation.

Now, instead, I think of my weekends (and conduct my weekends) as an opportunity for recreation, fun, and enjoyment.

I take pleasure and enjoyment now in different kinds of things, some very different from my prior weekend schedule, some subtly but still noticeably different from my previous weekend activities.

So let me now sketch out some of the activities I currently engage in during the weekends:

1. I continue my physical training from the week before. Not as hard, but in a relaxed form. Often this involves things that stretch me out, enhance my flexibility and my reflexes (very helpful considering my prior injuries), or allow me to recover from weight lifting and hiking in heavy packs. Things such as boxing, sword fighting, working on stealth, climbing, throwing the discus, hitting baseball, yoga, tai chi, etc.

2. I am teaching myself to play the guitar and to play far more complex chords on the piano than I normally do.

3. I spend time with my wife and kids and pets

4. I have gone back to drawing and sketching and architectural design

5. I learn new languages or improve my mastery of languages I already know

6. I practice and study Theurgy

7. I continue listening to the lectures I had been listening to during the week

8. I play games (board, role play, wargames) either with family and friends or by myself

9. I walk in the forest, explore, or Vad

10. I listen to my scanner or radios or monitor other communications (HAM, shortwave, etc.)

11. I study mathematics and physics (and other sciences, such as epigenetics, chemistry, biology, etc. as the mood strikes me)

12. I read for pleasure ( have returned to genre reading, such as sci-fi, detective, mystery, horror, fantasy, historical fiction, children’s literature, etc. – basically the same kinds of things I write)

13. I write a poem or song (if I’m in the mood)

14. I make notes in my notebooks to prepare for the upcoming week

15. I listen to music with a special emphasis on discovering music that is new to me

16. I work on my wood-craft and soon I plan to buy a small forge and master some of the arts of metalcraft (knife and sword and axe-head making)

17. I am taking up working with drones and 3-D printers and small robots

18. I try to come up with a new business idea or review our investments

19. I invent, build, or repair something, or renovate the house

20. I travel locally, throughout the state, or into nearby states

Now I’m not able to do all of these things every weekend, of course, except spend time with my family (assuming they are not somewhere else), teach myself guitar, and every weekend I try to study and practice Theurgy and explore or spend time in the woods.

But the point is that my weekends are far more active, enjoyable, productive, profitable, and refreshing (they are now Recreationally- oriented) than they are entertainment-oriented. And usually by Monday I am far more energized and ready for the new week than was previously the case.

My advice to you, and I know we live in an entertainment driven culture (movies, video-games, sports, etc.) that promotes entertainment above all else (in many cases), is to skip or put aside the entertainments as much as possible and focus instead on Recreation and more Beneficial Activities.

Personal activities, physical ones, social ones, educational ones, acting on your true goals and objectives, on your hobbies and avocations – focus on the things that bring you the greatest pleasure and fulfillment rather than upon those things that merely distract and entertain you.

For mere entertainment is a time-consuming and life-wasting trap. And more often than not it is a profit-wasting venture rather than an enriching one. And I mean that in both the financial sense (think of how much money you piss-away on bad films, group sports – where you don’t even play, you just sit on your asses watching others play, and mediocre video games) and in the general sense concerning the fact that you are wasting your perishable time and life-span on essentially useless activities.

Now before anyone thinks that I will say that I am not against all video games, or films, or even spectator and group sports. I am merely saying that far too much time is uselessly and profitlessly expended on the pursuit of these things as mere distractions and entertainments from actually living and accomplishing truly worthwhile endeavors and enterprises. Hell, even just a casual weekend hobby – such as rocketry, flying drones, exploring, , reading for pleasure, etc. is likely to be far better for your mind, body, and soul than merely sitting for hours upon your ass passively consuming (for the most part) films, television shows, spectator sports, and video games.

Finally, and not to be overlooked, by being more active on the weekends your sex drive increases. So, more sex with the wife. Sometimes a lot more.

And that never hurts a man…

NOT THE REASON I SHOULD CARE

NOT THE REASON I SHOULD CARE

Steinthal looked at the picture. Then he handed it back to Williams.

“What do you want me to do?” Steinthal asked.

“Shadow him,” Williams replied. Steinthal almost laughed at the term then caught himself. Curiosity got the better of humor.

“Maybe I can do it, but who is he, and why would I track him?” Steinthal said.

Williams blinked.

“You don’t recognize him?” Williams seemed truly dumbfounded.

“Why would I recognize him?” Steinthal said flatly. “I’ve never met him or seen him before.”

“But that’s Dale J. Soggs,” Williams responded.

Williams waited to see if the name would have an effect but when it didn’t he tried again.

“He’s the football player! First draft two years ago. Very first first draft,” Williams said.

Steinthal looked at Maugham and Maugham looked at Steinthal and then Maugham casually shrugged his shoulders.

Steinthal looked back at Williams and then, unable to contain HIMSELF anymore, laughed out loud. When he stopped laughing he scratched his neck and shook his head.

“Williams, what do I give a shit if he plays football?” Steinthal replied. “Is that supposed to be your pitch to me? You think I have nothing better to do with my time than watch fucking football? I’m a grown man Williams, not a little school girl. Look at Maugham Williams. You think he’s got nothing more important to do with his time than watch fucking football? You think he’s never done anything more dangerous than fucking football?”

Williams looked up at Maugham. He towered over them both.

“You don’t watch football either?” he asked Maugham. “Guy like you? Big as you are?”

Maugham looked down at Williams, smiled thinly, and shook his head dismissively. Then he went back to chewing his gum.

Williams looked back at Steinthal who was still waiting for a reply to his question. Williams still seemed confused so Steinthal backtracked.

“I didn’t ask you what he did Williams, if you can call that doing something. I asked you who he was and why you want him surveilled. Now who is he that you need him watched? And don’t give me any bullshit about him being a football player because I don’t give a shit. In case you missed it I don’t watch fucking football. And if this is about football then you’re killing your time and my interest. Now who is the man that you want him followed, and why?”

Williams looked stunned, then shook his head and exhaled loudly. He seemed to deflate as he did so.

“They said you’d be just like this,” he finally said.

“Like what?” Steinthal asked almost disinterestedly.

“Straight to the point,” Williams answered.

Steinthal ran his hand through his beard.

“Look, you want a play-runner or a ballet dancer then get another football player to chaperone him around. They can take notes on him, carry his little athletic bag, scrub his cleats, and type up his itinerary. Maybe take him to his pedicure or his oil bath where he can meet his side-chick. Assuming that’s what you’re after. But if I’m going to follow the man then I’m going to know exactly who and what he is and why he actually needs to be followed. Get me?” Steinthal said.

Williams blinked, then nodded. It was completely silent for a moment, except for someone vacuuming up at the far end of the hall.

“Now Williams, now,” Steinthal said. “I’m not here for the psychoanalysis and the ambiance.”

Williams blinked again and cleared his throat.

“We think he,” the team rep began. “Well, we’re not sure, you see, but we think he could be, maybe, a foreign agent,” Williams finally admitted.

This time Steinthal blinked.

“A football player?” Steinthal asked incredulously.

“Well, it’s just that, you see…” Williams answered, but Steinthal set his jaw and shook his head for silence. Then he ran his hand through his beard again, scratched his chin, nodded, and motioned to Maugham. Both men turned and walked towards the door.

Surprised Williams watched them reach the door before he thought to respond.

“Wait a second?” he blurted out. “Are you gonna do it? Will you follow him for us?”
Steinthal stopped at the door and turned to Williams.

“We will,” Steinthal replied.

“Well,” Williams continued confused. “Don’t you want any details on the man? Like where he lives, what he drives, that kind of thing…”

“No, I don’t,” Steinthal replied. “I’ll gather my own intel, and details. Call you in three days.” Then he and Maugham left, walked to the end of the hall, and punched the button for an elevator.

When they were inside and descending Maugham looked at Steinthal.

“Think this is what it appears to be?” he asked his friend.

“Hell no!” replied Steinthal. “No one would.” Maugham smiled.

“Think this Soggs guy might actually be dangerous then?” Maugham asked.

“If he is,” replied Steinthal, “we’ll find out soon enough. But in any case it won’t be because he’s a football player.”

And Maugham nodded and they both laughed.

from The Detective Steinthal

#football #case #foreignagent #writing
_______________________________________________________

I was working on a sci-fi story last night called, The Seas the Skies, when this scene popped into my head about a new case for Steinthal and Maugham. Something I’ve been thinking of doing anyway given all of the crap hysteria about foreign agents and all of the crap about professional football in our modern society. So I wrote this scene instead. First draft. If you’ll excuse the pun.

I’ll punch out the sci-fi story today after my hike with Sam.

Have a good day folks.

FADE AWAY

FADE AWAY

I’ve been teaching myself to play the guitar. Today at lunch and while screwing around and learning a particularly tough set of chords (for me to master – I’ve had my left wrist broken and it makes me slow) I thought about Tom Petty and the lyrics to the following song came to me. I have the basic chord structure, and the progression, and the flourishing but haven’t yet begun to write down the music.

This is only the second song I have ever composed on the guitar. By that I mean I usually songwrite by creating the lyrics first, then compose the music on piano. Because I’m a slow composer.

But in this case I composed the music first, on guitar, which as I said, I’m teaching myself and I’m new to playing it or working off of it.

Nevertheless I hope you like it.

FADE AWAY

Well where you think you go
Or you find you stay
The time will come
When you
Fade away…

For the wind will blow
In the bitter cold, and
Your heart will slow
When you
Finally go…

Well, the years seem deep
And the days are sweet
But the night still comes
When you
Can’t wake up…

Yes the dreams are clear
In the lonely air
When you lay it down
When you
Wander there…

Yet a man is through
And his heart is too
When he’s breathed his last
When he
Can’t undo…

Then his future’s past

See another world
Where your soul’s unfurled
For just another day
What would you like to say?

Doesn’t matter much
What you cannot touch
For the wind will blow
Then can you ever know?

Well, see my friend
First you start, then end,

And if you want to go
Or you wish to stay
Still the time will come
When you
Fade away…

The Trouble with Writing Endings

Kristen Twardowski

Paul Gauguin, “Portrait of a Young Woman. Vaite (Jeanne) Goupil),” Ordrupgaard, via Wikimedia.

The trouble with writing endings is that endings don’t actually exist. Not really. Instead there simply comes a moment when we stop telling the story.

Knowing when to stop has always been hard for me. In my head, I can’t help but carry the narrative on. What happens to the hero after she defeats the evil king? What happens after the protagonist gets married? What happens to the soldiers who were part of the losing army? What happens to the rest of the universe when the brightest star in a galaxy explodes?

There is always an after. And an after the after. And another after after that.

But the writer still has to stop telling the story at some point.

Where we decide to place the ending changes the meaning of a narrative. Does the tale…

View original post 98 more words

A Veteran Blogger’s Advice on Growing Traffic and Finding Community

Discover WordPress

Boulder, Colorado-based Susie Lindau recently celebrated six years of blogging on Susie Lindau’s Wild Ride, where she publishes on a wide range of topics — from surviving breast cancer to her travel adventures. To make her blogiversary meaningful for others, Susie posted her 18 best blog tips, providing frank, time-tested ideas. Below, you’ll find three that resonated with us.

---

Write what you are passionate about.

What excites you? I post about the events in my life that rile me up or touch me in some way. I also enjoy reading great stories. Ones that move me to tears or that make me think differently about a subject. Ones that open my heart or make me laugh. There used to be a lot more laughter here in the blogosphere.

How much are you willing to share? I draw lines when considering other people, but anything that happens to me…

View original post 234 more words

Anne the Series

Art of Shaima

The Anne of Green Gables series by Lucy Maud Montgomery were books I read in primary school; those thin $6.00 paperbacks (I believe from Bantam Books) with those lovely covers.  I remember a couple of adaptations to the screen over the years, most notably the one with actress Megan Follows was probably the most popular among fans. I was therefore thrilled to finally get to see a new version come to a series from CBC, simply called ANNE. Living in Canada, we got to see the series last month before its premiere on Netflix, which was a bonus in its self. 🙂 Having finished watching the first season and hoping it gets renewed for a second, I have to say I’ve found a new favourite in my collection of period dramas. I love the new take on the series, everything from the cinematography, to the cast, and costumes. It’s a…

View original post 171 more words

The Vespasian Psalter

For the Wynn

As mentioned in my last post, I have a new publication out – an entry in the Wiley-Blackwell Encyclopedia of Medieval Literature in Britain, on the Vespasian Psalter, the manuscript now shelved as London, British Library Cotton MS Vespasian A. i.  So how better to celebrate this than by dedicating a blogpost to the manuscript – with some images, something which I obviously couldn’t include in the encyclopaedia?

In brief, this manuscript is a copy of the Book of Psalms, originally written in the eighth century probably at Canterbury.  In the ninth century, some texts about the psalms were added to the start of the manuscript, and an Old English gloss above the Latin words of the main work.  Yet later, in the eleventh century, other prayers and canticles were added to the end of the manuscript.

The Vespasian Psalter is particularly special because the ninth-century gloss…

View original post 436 more words

Getting Lost in the Magic of Maps: Three Stories

Discover WordPress

We often think of maps as utilitarian tools that help us get from A to B without too many detours. For many a cartophile, however, they’re at once a beautiful object, an inspiration for storytelling and adventure, and the product of incredible craft and care. Here are three stories from the Discover archives exploring the power of maps.

---

Adrian Daub, “Here at the End of All Things”

Ready for your own domain name, advanced design options, and more? Find the right WordPress.com plan for you.

In his recent Longreads essay, Adrian Daub weaves together the history of fantasy maps — the kind you encounter in Lord of the Rings and the Song of Ice and Fire series — with the personal story of growing up as a map-obsessed Dungeons & Dragons geek in 1980s Germany.

They were all around us growing up, stitched into the texture of adolescence: a…

View original post 729 more words

THE ESSAYS ON GAME (and WORLD) DESIGN

ESSAYS ON GAME AND WORLD DESIGN

I had originally intended to write and post all of these essays in the order listed below. But life, hurricanes, a heath problem with my child, work, seminars, my novels, start-up ventures, college (my children going to and entering college), and attempting to get my work published interfered with that intention.

Nevertheless, on the weekends, I have been working on these essays, poco-a-poco, and most are already finished though not yet posted or published. I’m working on that though.

Most of these essays deal with fantasy gaming, role playing in general, and even specifically with Dungeons and Dragons and those types of games.

My overall ambition in writing these essays is to give the game designer, the game master (or DM/GM), and even the player a basic (and hopefully very beneficial) philosophical and design basis for the construction of their own backgrounds, characters, milieus, worlds, and works (from a gaming and design point of view, of course).

However I believe that many of these principles can also be easily and readily applied to the creation of fictional worlds and systems for genre writers of fantasy, science-fiction, horror, and pulp type works. Therefore these essays can also be looked upon as providing the philosophical and structural basis for fictional world design as well.

At present my total number of Essays on Game Design stands at seventeen (17), with most of these having already been written and the rest already sketched out. However this number may very well increase over time. Actually I expect it to, and eventually I expect to collect and publish all of these essays in a book on Game and World Design.

ESSAYS ON GAME DESIGN

INDEX:

Essay One: Crawling into Oblivion

Essay Two: To Hell With Balance

Essay Three: Where Has All the Magic Gone?

Essay Four: The Heroic Impulse – Where Have All the Heroes Gone?

Essay Five: The Tomb of Myth

Essay Six: Why the World Exists

Essay Seven: Why the Game Exists

Essay Eight: What is Modern Fantasy Anyway?

Essay Nine: Where Has All the History Gone? On Heirlooms, Legacies, and Inheritances

Essay Ten: U Plus (U+)

Essay Eleven: Luck Be Not Lazy

Essay Twelve: The Blood of Uncanny Monsters: Parts One and Two

Essay Thirteen: Scientifica Magica

Essay Fourteen: The Ability Hoard

Essay Fifteen: The Interactive Essay

Essay Sixteen: Where Have All the High Homes Gone: The Heröon, the Hometown, and the Mansion or Fortified Keep?

Essay Seventeen: Where Have All the Liturgists Gone?

THE PROPHET’S SONG

THE ECLIPSE OF THE LIGHTLESS MEN

THE ECLIPSE OF THE LIGHTLESS MEN

From the face of the moon do the gods watch the sins
Of the dim absent dreaming in the darkest of men
Do the stars in their orbits, falling to flare
Alight in the cities, or ignite in the air
To illumine the blindness, unruly console
When the blackness eclipses the depths of their souls?

The mirror is silver, the heavens are deep
The eyes of the lightless like death do they sleep
Their tribes all afire, rimmed by the blaze
Yet their hearts are all stone, and their minds all a maze
Where the light cannot shelter, nor sun still abide
No thread to remember, no savior arrives,
For the men who are lightless grow great in their herds
Yet of hope or of Wisdom nothing is heard
An Eclipse of the Silence, the cold and the still
The Furies unfrozen, a debt to fulfill
For the Plague that was promised is spoken again
The Cure long abandoned, a whispering wind,
The masses are metered, each measured alike
For man is as nothing when compassed by night
The Earth is ill-favored, the moon eats her share
The darkness within us escapes to the air –
Though who bothers to repent, or lust for the light
When the lure of the eclipse burns yet so bright?
Encased in our Eclipse who yet occupies
That nature eternal that never can die
Or wonders to wander where darkness is rare
Where men yet make marvels, not terrors declare?
I would I could tell you, I would that I knew
For the lies of the lightless have eclipsed me and you…

______________________________

My poem commemorating the Solar Eclipse in the year of our Lord, 2017, and the current (and constant) nature of man…

I began it around midnight yesterday and concluded it about 0200 hours today (8/21/17).

#writing  #poetry   #eclipse

 

WE’LL WORK ON THAT

WE’LL WORK ON THAT

The place was dark. Very dark, all things considered. The whole house seemed closed off into small compartments. However there was still light streaming in from a full moon by a window to the right of the room.

Precisely why Steinthal had chosen this night. He knew that because of the full moon his night vision equipment could make good use of the available ambient and residual light and he could operate “in the dark” without giving himself away.

Time to put on my googles he thought.

He heard a small creak.

Instinctively he ducked low but something still hit him from behind and from his left. It had struck the top of his shoulder, the backside of his neck and the base of his skull. It was wide whatever it was. And it had only been a glancing blow but Steinthal saw a flash from the impact, heard a ring in his ear, and stumbled forward a few feet. Then as he caught his balance he ran forward another five or six feet and swirled as fast as he could recover.

Someone stood there. A big someone. Big and dark. If it had growled Steinthal might have taken it for a bear. As it was Steinthal thought it might be even more dangerous.

The thing seemed to just pause there as if considering what to do next. Steinthal’s head cleared completely and he started to make for his gun when the shape charged. It came in close almost instantly and surprised Steinthal, not with a jab or a horizontal swing, but with a ferocious right uppercut. Steinthal barely had time to react but twisted some and got his left arm stiffened and intercepted the shot down low. That took most of the punch out but the guy was still so strong that he lifted Steinthal onto the balls of his feet just from the sheer momentum.

Steinthal counterpunched furiously with his right. Hit the guy solidly on the left side of the front of his neck. It should have rocked the guy on his heels, caused him to splutter and choke. He hadn’t hit the trachea but it still would have stunned most men.

As it was the only two things that seemed to happen as far as Steinthal could tell was that it made a sound like the guy had been hit with a wet fish, and the man stepped back one step. He hadn’t even bent over.

Realizing fully what he was now facing, Steinthal swiftly backtracked three or four feet and grabbed his revolver with his right and his combat knife with his left. He had only glanced down for an instance to retrieve his weapons but when he looked up the guy already had a semiautomatic in one hand and a shiny machete in the other. Where the machete had come from Steinthal had no idea but it did impress him.

The guy was now closer to the moonlight. You could partially make him out. Steinthal decided he wasn’t big after all. He was monstrous. But he didn’t look stupid. No, there was a kind of set to his face and a sort of light in his eyes that Steinthal took for real and raw intelligence. Even more dangerous.

There were several moments of tense silence while they pointed their weapons at each other.

“That kind of hurt for such a little fella,” the big guy suddenly said and spit. There might have been some blood mixed in but it was too dark to tell. “What’s your name?”

“Huh?” Steinthal said.

“I said, ‘what’s your name.’ I don’t like having to repeat myself.”

Steinthal cleared his throat.

“John,” he replied. “But most everyone calls me Steinthal.”

The guy seemed to mull over the answer.

“Yeah, you’re the one,” he said as if mentally verifying a fact-sheet.

“What one?” Steinthal asked.

“The one I’m meant to kill tonight,” the big guy said.

“Well then,” Steinthal said. “You’re one up on me. I usually know nothing about most of the people I kill until it is all over.
“Why is that?” the big guy asked.

“Because they tend to ambush me,” replied Steinthal.

The big guy chuckled quietly.

“Well then, are you going to shoot me?” he asked.

“I’d rather not,” Steinthal said warily. “But at this point anything seems possible.”

Seemingly to spite himself the big guy chuckled again.

“I like you.” The big guy said. “You’re funny.”

“Trust me,” Steinthal said. “I’m not trying to be, but if helps any then let’s just go with that.”

The big guy seemed blithe. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to snap your neck, but now I sort of like you.”

Steinthal noticed that despite the relaxed and easy going tone of the man’s voice his aim had remained absolutely fixed and his breathing so steady that he seemed motionless. Even while he spoke.

“Yeah, well,” said Steinthal “We all do what we can.”

The guy laughed again. If not for the circumstances then to Steinthal this would have seemed ridiculous.

When the guy finished laughing he said, “Seems kind of a shame now though.”

“Don’t it,” said Steinthal. “But, you know, the guns and all…”

The big guy looked at Steinthal’s revolver.

“I’ve been shot before you know,” he said. “By a lot bigger and more powerful weapons than that. Never killed me.”

“I’ll bet,” said Steinthal. “But there’s always that first time. And I’m pretty damned determined.”

“Also I’m armored,” said the big guy, as if he hadn’t noticed Steinthal’s reply.

“Thanks for the heads up,” said Steinthal. “Now I know where not to aim.”

There was silence again. But no movement.

“Say,” Steinthal finally said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the distinct feeling you’re not just playing for time here. Do you get the idea that there might be something else going on with this whole affair that neither of us are quite square on? And that maybe we should skip the strangulations and compare notes about in private?”

More silence. But then the big guy shrugged nonchalantly and holstered his gun. It kind of disappeared entirely into the huge black mound that was his chest. But the machete remained. And the guy had never even shifted his gaze.

“Maybe… Probably… Yes. I’ve had that idea for some time now,” he said. “But I didn’t want to make any snap judgements.”

“Yeah,” Steinthal said. “It’s one of the things I appreciate most about you.”

“People think I’m stupid, you know. Because I’m so big,” the big guy said. With a kind of sad resignation that seemed almost fatalistic.

“Well fella,” said Steinthal. “I’m not most people. And whereas you are stupefyingly big, you are most definitely not stupid.”

The guy chuckled again. Then sighed softly.

“You going to lower your gun now?” the big guy asked.

“I’m thinking about it, but, you know, I’m not exactly stupid either.”

The machete clattered to the floor.

“Very nice. Now can you do that with your hands, arms, and most of the rest of you as well?”

The guy smiled in the dark. And it seemed completely friendly.

“Probably not. I come this way,” he said.

“Alright then. I’ll just take your word for it.” And Steinthal holstered his gun and knife.

“Say,” Steinthal said relaxing a little. “Since you know so much about me what say you tell me your name?”

“You’ll laugh,” the big guy replied.

“Well, if I do, then don’t take it personally. I have an excellent sense of humor.”

“Okay then. It’s Maugham,” said the big guy. “William Somerset Maugham. But my friends call me Angus.”

Steinthal whistled. “Well I’ll be damned. I’ve read all your books!”

“Yeah,” the big guy looked sheepishly at the ground. “My mother was real big on literature.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Steinthal said. “But say, you’re a lot bigger in person than you look in the papers. Or the history books.”

“Yeah, I hear that a lot. Well, not a lot. Not recently anyway. Most people don’t read anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s a real shame, ain’t it? But that being what it is I’m not calling you Angus or Bill either,” Steinthal said.

“Well then, what are you going to call me?”

“I’m gonna call you Maugham,” said Steinthal. “Because you remind me of W. Somerset Maugham. If, you know, he had been as big as a damned Angus.”

Maugham nodded.

“What say though we get outta here now Maugham?” Steinthal asked. “Before they send in a troll?”

Maugham shrugged. “Okay. I’m game if you are.”

As they were sneaking out Steinthal said, “Say, what you said back there. Is that true?”

“Is what true?” asked Maugham.

“Do you really have friends?”

Maugham stopped in his tracks and seemed to mull over the question quietly in his mind before replying.

“You know, I’m not really sure.”

“Well,” said Steinthal. “The night is still young. We’ll work at it awhile. Then see what we can come up with. One thing’s for sure though.”

“What’s that?” asked Maugham.

“After tonight I owe you one. If you’ll take friendship as payment then I’ll sure call it square.”

(This is the first meeting between Steinthal and Maugham.)

From The Detective Steinthal.

MAN HAS ALWAYS BEEN…

MAN HAS ALWAYS BEEN…

a morally risk averse creature. Men will certainly do what is right and good when physically forced to do so, or for the pursuit of self-interest, or when they feel truly and personally endangered, or because others insist that must be the case (society, the law, those whom they allow to exercise power over them).

But the percentage of men who will do what is right (or even argue for or wish to do what is right) in every circumstance, and no matter the risk, the danger, or the opposition – simply for the sake of doing what is right – is at least as low as that percentage of men who seek to do harm or wrong or evil simply for the sake of doing harm, wrong, or evil.

(And trust me, there are huge numbers of people so naive and sheltered and willfully ignorant about both life and human nature that they cannot even believe that such men exist. Though they most certainly do.)

So to me the real tragedy of the entire history of man, and probably one of the highest real reasons for his need of salvation, is not that the extremely small percentage of men who are consistently dedicated to doing evil are consistently dedicated to doing evil, but rather that there is such an infinitesimally small percentage of men consistently dedicated to doing what is right simply because it is always best to do so.

(My observation for Maundy Thursday.)

TODAY I LEVELED UP

Tome and Tomb

LEVELING UP

Today I leveled Up. Several years ago I began directly applying the various gaming and wargaming techniques I have practiced most of my life directly to my “Real Life,” – to improve my character, nature, abilities, and to help me with my overall human accomplishments.

Part of my TSS (Transferable Skill Systems) and GPAD  (Games of Personal advancement and Development) Program.

Lately I have improved that system.

Today I made another Rise in my Accomplishments. Or, put in simplistic gaming terms I leveled up in Real Life.

This is basically my System and how I use it to advance myself (and those around me, like my wife and children).

ACCOMPLISHMENTS: (Rising or Leveling Up)

PROGRESSION – a minor accomplishment such as; making a ten pound increase in weight lifting routine, cutting time off of a sprint, climbing higher, faster, and farther, winning a sparring match (boxing…

View original post 661 more words

DEMOCRACIES AND THE REAL REPUBLIC

The Missal

In a democracy (especially a socialistic one) the general idea is that every man ought to be free enough to be able to do precisely as he will any time he chooses, be that for good or for ill.

In a Republic (especially a Christian one) the general principle ought to be that every man should be trained from birth to will himself to do only what is Good, Just, and Wise.

If you don’t understand the difference between these two radically different concepts and modes of governance (the one commanded by mere herds of mortal men, the other of the True Self) then it is probably because you have never been seriously or long trained in what is Good, Just, and Wise, or because you have made such an idolatrous fetish of liberty at all costs that what is Good…

View original post 15 more words

THE FALL ITSELF

The Missal

“…the Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
to reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.”

Most people think that Paradise Lost is first and foremost the tale of the Fall of Man and the loss of his Paradise on Earth.

In Truth Paradise Lost is first and foremost the tale of how Lucifer forever lost Heaven, Earth, Paradise,  and eventually even hell to become a mere romantic hero, a fool, a failure, and a ruin of his former Self. All because he mistook license for Liberty, revolt for Responsibility, fervor for Freedom, and wrong for Wisdom.

For the Fall of Man was but a worldly incident of a Fall Unmade by a Better and far more Universal Man.

The Fall from Heaven was a universal…

View original post 32 more words