9/30/20

Soon I’ll be crushed under school-work. It’s slowly getting heavier.
I’m currently redrafting a section of my book to have a character live instead of dying. Doing so I think I can develop ideas of how they’ll cope with what happened. It gives me more connection between book 1 and 2, it also makes me feel less like they are seen as a ‘disposable character’.

I wish I’d have sent out more query letters, but since I’m redrafting elements I’ll have to wait until I smooth out my manuscript’s latter sections. I hope to send it out soon. I’ve done some edits to give the protagonist a more overtly ‘obvious’ goal. I think because of how I originally envisioned the tale it muddied the ‘call to action’ element that’s pressured to be there.
He is a passive character and slowly becomes active, but I feel making it more obvious may make it more attractive to agents. One can hope, as long as I don’t tarnish his character. I’ll have to be careful.

Hope all are well.

The Music Swells

Chasing a truth through tundra and wasteland; sacrificing your joy for that lofty elusive goal. Racing through years, edging closer to that glimmering deepening transformer. You race up the stairwells, through gates and into yourself, until you glimpse the searing lucidity that you sought ever so fervently. You’re entire mind unclogs, you’re vision no longer crooked, and just as you step onto the precipice between worlds, you perish.

9/17/20

She sank beneath the ice, her eyes turning upward; her throat burning. She regretted all she had done to deserve such a fate. She saw into herself, her hubris of desiring more at the expense of others, her crown too heavy for her head, she saw beneath it, a vacuum beneath her eyes. She stared into it until her body turned to smoke then to wind, and she awoke in a forest of starlight with a new face.

Like Vapor it Fades

Thinking back to it, burns my eyes, and washes me in hypnagogic events and spaces. Those untraversable loci and emotional distillations lounging subliminally, coming out to play when the right sound or scent happens by. For a fleetingly brilliant moment, I can travel through space and time because all moments fade like vapor.

Reluctant Warrior

How many times have you perished, I wonder. You’re fumbling with the keys but ever so close. You can see it? The masks you and I wear are churning vapor. No matter how you strive you’re destiny is compressed into diamond. Not by the will of the Sisters, but by the one who will forever ensure that your fate remains immutable; yourself.

Tales

Writers are transmitters of an endless array of knowledge. Narrative generates mythic keys; unlocking psychic doors. A wordsmith can reshape entire societies, forge dimensions, and unlock secrets held within others and themselves. They craft illusions, build lighthouses, and the readers glimmer in transformed states.

Aleatory Lapse

Do you know how many times I died
Windows painted in nuclear light
Do you know how many times I died
That moment I feel that cliff waiting

Winding around mirrors and farms
Waiting for that momentary lapse
All things covered in soot and bones
That moment when the chain breaks

And I can see inside my mirage

In An Afternoon Breeze

Sometimes, I feel like, what once was is here
Sometimes, i feel like, time isn’t here
Sometimes, I wonder why, I’m not there
Sometimes, I remember, that I’m not from here

The photographs can never show
The midnight creatures breathing on your neck
The maps can never show
The psychic roads in the secret hours

Would you cry, if you saw, that invisible light
Everything shifting, your mind changing
Would you cry, if no one understood
Would you crawl into the cracks

Sometimes, I feel like, nothing was ever here
Sometimes, i feel like, time was never here
Sometimes, I wonder why, I’m not like you
Sometimes, I remember, that I’m not from here now

Why did I do that
Why did I do that
Why did I do that

REM

When we dream, microcosms flicker into consciousness. They’re persistence for the superficial observer lends them to believe these worlds are transient. Events and people exist just the same when not within one’s observable range. Space has many faces and exists parallel in metamateriel form.

Music is Magic

There is magical force within our senses. Music can awaken and deepen fleeting dimensions we make for ourselves.

I spent too long on this.

I am forever interested in exploring a myriad of forms of expression. Though, I must admit, writing will always be the best for expression. However, music has always been invaluable as a creative drug for brainstorming and beyond.

I suggest if you are ever stuck, put on some music that fits what your story, chapter or even characters or world–and let your mind drift. Oh the wonderful places it’ll go!