The first book in my series is completed and available as cheap as I could make it on Amazon Kindle app via Kindles, Nooks, iDevices, computers, etc.
You can get it at the following link, or if I know you personally just ask me for it and I'll send it free. You can also see a lengthy preview by clicking "Look Inside".
http://www.amazon.com/Archon-The-Golden-Luminary-ebook/dp/B005PTY7D2
Synopsis:
What if the myths and legends of our world are true and magic does indeed exist? What if the proof of these things simply moved? What if societal advancement and human development creates a hundredth-monkey link between our planet and that of another?
A world parallel with our own, inhabited by Earth’s ancient descendants, teeters on the brink of annihilation. The Fallen Seven--formerly the Seven Princes of Hell--are poised to dominate all life and land. Peoples and cultures are divided by borders and religion, separated by hatred when the only hope of survival is to unite. As it is now, civilization stands ready to be consumed by the barbarian millions.
This has all begun with darkness. The new Tunnel War rages throughout the Combine underground where the Dwarves are left to defend against the unspeakable fiends of the Shadow Conglomerate. Thus, the Vampires and their Shade brethren spread throughout the networks, ever ready to carry out the will of the Fallen.
In the distant land of Cathdara, however, four magic-wielders would be bound by fate in a search of the legendary Kaimenius Prax the Ultimate, a Mage Archon of boundless power. Commissioned by both the League of Magic and the Cathdaran Empire of Romans, Greeks, and Poeni, these allies of convenience will have to set aside their differences in order to prevail. Though Kaimenius is as mysterious as the morning fog. He is an unknown variable in a turbulent world. He is recorded to be morality incarnate yet Fell to the Vile Magicks before his final fate. Will he deliver sentience from evil or unleash it upon them in even greater measure?
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Stress
Blades of a piercing shadow,
Slow stirs of apprehension.
Overcast clouds that darken the world beneath,
And the futile struggle to escape its grasp.
Time passes at a fast pace,
But serves only to strengthen its hold.
Dull aches and sharp pains,
Building fear and growing annoyance.
It is inevitable,
It is necessary.
Stress.
Slow stirs of apprehension.
Overcast clouds that darken the world beneath,
And the futile struggle to escape its grasp.
Time passes at a fast pace,
But serves only to strengthen its hold.
Dull aches and sharp pains,
Building fear and growing annoyance.
It is inevitable,
It is necessary.
Stress.
Soldier Soldier Made of Tin
Marching ready and able,
The young man left the table.
He had seen it at first light,
and he could not ignore its plight.
In his hand he held a sword,
Destined to find the hidden hoarde.
When he was just a little tike,
He was brave, charming and easy to like.
Outbound for the park,
He would see it one last turn before his world turned dark.
The young man left the table.
He had seen it at first light,
and he could not ignore its plight.
In his hand he held a sword,
Destined to find the hidden hoarde.
When he was just a little tike,
He was brave, charming and easy to like.
Outbound for the park,
He would see it one last turn before his world turned dark.
Saphire`
Saphire shows courage,
Independant of the shadows beneath the giant.
Time tempered her patience,
Yet her rage fired her soul.
To run was her only means of control,
From a cancer pink and foul.
Independant of the shadows beneath the giant.
Time tempered her patience,
Yet her rage fired her soul.
To run was her only means of control,
From a cancer pink and foul.
Thought
Massive speed at scattering,
Shifted polarization with its amplitude.
Perfect unitary supersymmetry,
Creates a quantum intensity of its existance.
Endless cycles of and reevaluation,
It is close to acquisition of answer or solution.
Shifted polarization with its amplitude.
Perfect unitary supersymmetry,
Creates a quantum intensity of its existance.
Endless cycles of and reevaluation,
It is close to acquisition of answer or solution.
Late Night (Written early 2010)
She looked upon me with pale eyes; her expression leered by beauty and her own sorrow. Sadness—it filled her heart. Like a dark layer of muck, the emotion oozed all over her. She bathed it in—unknowingly reveled in it. I could do nothing but stare back into the void of her gaze, her spirit staring directly through all my walls and defenses.
Unraveled. I felt… unraveled. For the first time, I felt naked. It was all gone—nothing remained of what once did. And when she looked upon me, she saw this. She smiled—it was in many ways more haunting than the salty frown she had worn before that. She looked happy. It was good, I felt happy.
Then it happened. Darkness. Loss. “What is this?” she said, “What is this red I bleed?” And when I looked down, a hole had been torn through her, out of which she was bleeding severely. “What happened?” I asked her. Her face swelled as if she were about to cry, then eased again. “What is this red I bleed?” She asked again, her voice pleading with me.
“It is your blood.” I answered. She shook her head. “No,” She said, her face muscles again contracting as her eyes teared and she was overcome with emotion—sadness, darkness, remorse, regret, loss… She reached out to me. She drew all fingers in but her index, and pointed at me. “It is your blood,” She said, “It is your blood.”
Suddenly, everything began to fade away. The floor we stood upon, the walls we stood behind. All the objects—all the tangible materials. She, too, began to fade away.
“I have bled your blood.” She said. “Now you must be kind to me.”
I reached for a book I owned that floated in the evaporating room. “No.” She said. “You must be kind to me. Leave it there…”
Then there was nothing. Blackness. Darkness. Remorse. Regret. Sadness. Pity. Loss. But then that, too, evaporated. Nothingness—the essence of stillness, silence, serenity, and focus.
A loud clap of thunder. Everything exploded into chaotic matter. Hues of red and blue, green and orange, purple and yellow—they all swam across my view. “Be kind to me.” I heard the echo. “Be kind to me…”
I held my head as the universe fell into place around me. I stood silently and watched. At this moment, I felt one thing for no particular reason. I felt love. Could it be desribed by a single color: pink.
There was nothing else. The wheels were set into motion now. Waters will raise, oceans will marry, and all will fear for themselves. They will not be kind to her, and she will not take sympathy upon them.
Grounding spirits help me. Pull me back to this place, and take me away again when it’s time.
Sorrow.
Loss.
Love.
Darkness.
Light.
Void.
Nothingness.
Beware the Templar of the new age and the Order of which they will serve; keep eyes on the Archons, as they will not be kind to her.
Let go.
Unraveled. I felt… unraveled. For the first time, I felt naked. It was all gone—nothing remained of what once did. And when she looked upon me, she saw this. She smiled—it was in many ways more haunting than the salty frown she had worn before that. She looked happy. It was good, I felt happy.
Then it happened. Darkness. Loss. “What is this?” she said, “What is this red I bleed?” And when I looked down, a hole had been torn through her, out of which she was bleeding severely. “What happened?” I asked her. Her face swelled as if she were about to cry, then eased again. “What is this red I bleed?” She asked again, her voice pleading with me.
“It is your blood.” I answered. She shook her head. “No,” She said, her face muscles again contracting as her eyes teared and she was overcome with emotion—sadness, darkness, remorse, regret, loss… She reached out to me. She drew all fingers in but her index, and pointed at me. “It is your blood,” She said, “It is your blood.”
Suddenly, everything began to fade away. The floor we stood upon, the walls we stood behind. All the objects—all the tangible materials. She, too, began to fade away.
“I have bled your blood.” She said. “Now you must be kind to me.”
I reached for a book I owned that floated in the evaporating room. “No.” She said. “You must be kind to me. Leave it there…”
Then there was nothing. Blackness. Darkness. Remorse. Regret. Sadness. Pity. Loss. But then that, too, evaporated. Nothingness—the essence of stillness, silence, serenity, and focus.
A loud clap of thunder. Everything exploded into chaotic matter. Hues of red and blue, green and orange, purple and yellow—they all swam across my view. “Be kind to me.” I heard the echo. “Be kind to me…”
I held my head as the universe fell into place around me. I stood silently and watched. At this moment, I felt one thing for no particular reason. I felt love. Could it be desribed by a single color: pink.
There was nothing else. The wheels were set into motion now. Waters will raise, oceans will marry, and all will fear for themselves. They will not be kind to her, and she will not take sympathy upon them.
Grounding spirits help me. Pull me back to this place, and take me away again when it’s time.
Sorrow.
Loss.
Love.
Darkness.
Light.
Void.
Nothingness.
Beware the Templar of the new age and the Order of which they will serve; keep eyes on the Archons, as they will not be kind to her.
Let go.
The Steam
The Stream
It was the late afternoon. The sun had begun to fall gently from the sky when storm clouds came rolling in on an eastern wind, their shade a light yet oppressive gray. Rain began to form, nourishing the tall oak trees which surrounded the stream.
The stream weaved through the forest as a stealthy serpent, it’s girth narrow and subtle. It was shallow; deep enough only to harbor the gentle and small fish that lived within.
It ran at a steady pace, and was a clear blue. Rocks rest at its bottom, both small and large in size. They were smooth and adorned with vibrant green algae.
The stream was silent and still, yet the falling rain caused ample ripples, the sound of their meeting loud and resounding.
All was at peace.
It was the late afternoon. The sun had begun to fall gently from the sky when storm clouds came rolling in on an eastern wind, their shade a light yet oppressive gray. Rain began to form, nourishing the tall oak trees which surrounded the stream.
The stream weaved through the forest as a stealthy serpent, it’s girth narrow and subtle. It was shallow; deep enough only to harbor the gentle and small fish that lived within.
It ran at a steady pace, and was a clear blue. Rocks rest at its bottom, both small and large in size. They were smooth and adorned with vibrant green algae.
The stream was silent and still, yet the falling rain caused ample ripples, the sound of their meeting loud and resounding.
All was at peace.
Duel and Duality (Written to the music of Winter, by Vivaldi)
A stain upon my honor,
A bane upon my soul.
I shall not go silent,
I shall not stand still.
You will not go unscathed,
You will not go on living.
I shall grip my rapier tightly,
And draw it quickly.
I shall strike strongly,
And move swiftly.
Blade pierces flesh,
Wound lets blood.
No one blocks my thresh,
They only fall to the mud.
Never was she yours,
Always is she mine.
I shall keep her close,
And keep her mine.
Never will we die,
Always will we love.
Never will we break,
Always shall we keep.
She is mine remarkably,
She is mine inexplicably.
I am hers inevitably,
I am hers eternally.
A bane upon my soul.
I shall not go silent,
I shall not stand still.
You will not go unscathed,
You will not go on living.
I shall grip my rapier tightly,
And draw it quickly.
I shall strike strongly,
And move swiftly.
Blade pierces flesh,
Wound lets blood.
No one blocks my thresh,
They only fall to the mud.
Never was she yours,
Always is she mine.
I shall keep her close,
And keep her mine.
Never will we die,
Always will we love.
Never will we break,
Always shall we keep.
She is mine remarkably,
She is mine inexplicably.
I am hers inevitably,
I am hers eternally.
Echoes of the Lost (Written to the music of Prelude a la Nuit, by Maurice Ravel)
Moonlight’s far reach,
Shone the cold night’s thick fog.
The sweet aroma of lotus fills the nostrils,
As the wind carries the scent through the trees.
A bastion of nature harbors vile secrets from curious eyes,
As clouds eclipse the moon.
Terrors hidden beneath the ground,
Seeds sowed by wrath and greed.
Once they lived fruitful lives,
Now their flesh rots in graves not their own,
Their lives ended before time would claim.
Eyes staring with no gaze beneath.
Bones broken.
Stricken with rigor mortis,
Maggots feasting.
They linger,
As specters in the night.
Restless,
As vengeful banshees.
To those they loved,
They are but distant memories,
While those they hate dance on their graves.
Lost.
Forgotten.
Betrayed.
Murdered...
Shone the cold night’s thick fog.
The sweet aroma of lotus fills the nostrils,
As the wind carries the scent through the trees.
A bastion of nature harbors vile secrets from curious eyes,
As clouds eclipse the moon.
Terrors hidden beneath the ground,
Seeds sowed by wrath and greed.
Once they lived fruitful lives,
Now their flesh rots in graves not their own,
Their lives ended before time would claim.
Eyes staring with no gaze beneath.
Bones broken.
Stricken with rigor mortis,
Maggots feasting.
They linger,
As specters in the night.
Restless,
As vengeful banshees.
To those they loved,
They are but distant memories,
While those they hate dance on their graves.
Lost.
Forgotten.
Betrayed.
Murdered...
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Airport (Written approx. early-2010 -Rennaissance Period-)
She was alone tonight—secluded from everyone she felt to be vile, and isolated from the society she so despised. She was absolutely content in her solitude—indeed, she reveled in it.
Sarah felt happy—an almost giddy excitement running from her heart and into her throat. She was at the International Airport of Miami.
She sat atop the roof of her car near the fence of the airfield as she always did. Watching. Listening. Observing.
Night had fallen a number of hours ago, and the darkness of the sky had nearly reached its pinnacle. Even more stunning was the airport at night—
The lights of the concourse, of the parking lots, of the tower and runway all glowed like beacons to guide a lost soul. Perhaps Sarah was that lost soul…
She gazed at the runway in wonder and serenity, all worldly thoughts lost. She watched the multicolored lights that illuminated the runway play across the pavement as they guided in the giant flying machines with patterns of flashing and phasing.
But the gloom persisted and was ever prevalent despite the protest of the airport’s many lights attempting to quell it with a swift, outreaching hush.
She watched as the planes on approach appeared in the distance, slowly changing from a speck of lights to a definable, yet shadowed, figure. She closed her eyes and lay back on her car.
The commercial airliners possess engines that were deafeningly loud. Even at her distance, it was barely lessened. Though there was something quiet in the raucous thunder that echoed and reverberated outward upon the saddle of the wind. Something calm. At least, there was to her.
No one understood Sarah. No one understood why she heard silence where there is only noise, felt peace where there is only strife, felt harmony where there is only chaos. Thus she was alone, both by necessity and by choice in equal portions.
As the planes overhead started and ended their long journeys, a cool wind took hold of her in a cold embrace, her silky smooth skin reacting by attempting to shield her with goose bumps.
The gale blew through the many palm trees surrounding the airport, whispers resonating away from between the fronds.
With the wind came the fragrance of the airport—an unclean, smoky odor of exhaust filling Sarah’s nostrils and infiltrating her mouth.
She could taste it—it was bitterly unnatural, akin to that of burning rubber. It made her scowl uncontrollably every now and then. Still, the merits of this magical place far outweighed the drawbacks.
At least, it did for Sarah.
Sarah felt happy—an almost giddy excitement running from her heart and into her throat. She was at the International Airport of Miami.
She sat atop the roof of her car near the fence of the airfield as she always did. Watching. Listening. Observing.
Night had fallen a number of hours ago, and the darkness of the sky had nearly reached its pinnacle. Even more stunning was the airport at night—
The lights of the concourse, of the parking lots, of the tower and runway all glowed like beacons to guide a lost soul. Perhaps Sarah was that lost soul…
She gazed at the runway in wonder and serenity, all worldly thoughts lost. She watched the multicolored lights that illuminated the runway play across the pavement as they guided in the giant flying machines with patterns of flashing and phasing.
But the gloom persisted and was ever prevalent despite the protest of the airport’s many lights attempting to quell it with a swift, outreaching hush.
She watched as the planes on approach appeared in the distance, slowly changing from a speck of lights to a definable, yet shadowed, figure. She closed her eyes and lay back on her car.
The commercial airliners possess engines that were deafeningly loud. Even at her distance, it was barely lessened. Though there was something quiet in the raucous thunder that echoed and reverberated outward upon the saddle of the wind. Something calm. At least, there was to her.
No one understood Sarah. No one understood why she heard silence where there is only noise, felt peace where there is only strife, felt harmony where there is only chaos. Thus she was alone, both by necessity and by choice in equal portions.
As the planes overhead started and ended their long journeys, a cool wind took hold of her in a cold embrace, her silky smooth skin reacting by attempting to shield her with goose bumps.
The gale blew through the many palm trees surrounding the airport, whispers resonating away from between the fronds.
With the wind came the fragrance of the airport—an unclean, smoky odor of exhaust filling Sarah’s nostrils and infiltrating her mouth.
She could taste it—it was bitterly unnatural, akin to that of burning rubber. It made her scowl uncontrollably every now and then. Still, the merits of this magical place far outweighed the drawbacks.
At least, it did for Sarah.
Ranting (Written September 2009, -Dark Period-)
Do you hear the bells ring as I do? Do you see the world through my eyes? Does your mouth sour at that man, guess who? Does your sight of these abominations cause your cries? Listen in the darkness, harken to your own voice. Do not listen to that man that lies. After all, we have a choice, To not listen is to stop out cries. Evil is his feigned-understanding. He judges unjustly, unfairly, ignorantly. Why must he hate, must kill and destroy, must resist, must be against? It is because of how he thinks. So far is he to the right, that he doesn't care to listen to the left. Too cocky is he to help the middle, or even care for it. He says it is for the best. He says that things should be preserved the way they are. Why? Why should they be conserved, when there is so much wrong and injustice in the world? Why does he claim to accept everyone, but the fine print of his morals obviously say something else? Because they are too proud to admit they are wrong. They are walking contradictions. They are the right.
How it is now (Written May 20, 2009. -Dark Period-)
The supposedly unreachable goal has been attained. The road has disturbingly ended. Now is the time during which freedom and victory should be tasted, and yet there is only a void. A starving hunger that cannot be fed, a depressing thirst that cannot be quenched. This feeling is a nullity; an abyss where the end is concealed not by an obstacle or any kind of object. The hindrance is of distance. Distance as well as time.
Time. . . Time is an interesting thing. It's measures even more so.
I sit here now, the only company is my mind. My thoughts. Being alone with such has caused me to betray myself. My thoughts attack my belief and knowledge. I stretch to provide answers, logical ones, but alas, there are none for what I hold in question. So I cast it away from my mind, and out of my thoughts completely, and perhaps subconsciously, eagerly, await it's return.
I sit here, in front of this bright computer screen, venting my inner-most thoughts and feelings to an audience that, thankfully, is not listening. I can see an hour glass in front of me. An hour glass that isn't really there. I see the granules of sand falling helplessly into the pool of its brethren below. It's completely accurate to say that it is helpless, and because of that, I feel sorrow for it. However, it also knows its purpose. It matters not what choices it makes, or any thoughts it has. It knows what will happen to it, what awaits it, and why. And because of that, I envy it. I see these "granules" at the market, at the theater, and at religious centers. They are perfectly content with living, regardless of the fact that they're falling helplessly into predetermined places. They ignore thoughtful philosophical questions. They ignore logic. They ignore everything that does not concern them. What, then, is the difference between us? What is living in the present moment, and what is ignorance? I resent them, and I envy them. So I continue to watch the hour glass called Earth. I watch the sand fall, and I curiously wonder what will happen when the hour is up.
Time. . . Time is an interesting thing. It's measures even more so.
I sit here now, the only company is my mind. My thoughts. Being alone with such has caused me to betray myself. My thoughts attack my belief and knowledge. I stretch to provide answers, logical ones, but alas, there are none for what I hold in question. So I cast it away from my mind, and out of my thoughts completely, and perhaps subconsciously, eagerly, await it's return.
I sit here, in front of this bright computer screen, venting my inner-most thoughts and feelings to an audience that, thankfully, is not listening. I can see an hour glass in front of me. An hour glass that isn't really there. I see the granules of sand falling helplessly into the pool of its brethren below. It's completely accurate to say that it is helpless, and because of that, I feel sorrow for it. However, it also knows its purpose. It matters not what choices it makes, or any thoughts it has. It knows what will happen to it, what awaits it, and why. And because of that, I envy it. I see these "granules" at the market, at the theater, and at religious centers. They are perfectly content with living, regardless of the fact that they're falling helplessly into predetermined places. They ignore thoughtful philosophical questions. They ignore logic. They ignore everything that does not concern them. What, then, is the difference between us? What is living in the present moment, and what is ignorance? I resent them, and I envy them. So I continue to watch the hour glass called Earth. I watch the sand fall, and I curiously wonder what will happen when the hour is up.
Despicable Feeling (Written April 30, 2009. -Dark Period-)
I feel this emotion, if one can call such a bludgeoning pressure such a simplistic word as that. It’s a razor-sharp pain, it’s a turmoil; a terrible sensation that echoes from the deepest collapse of my heart, to the most peripheral cell of my skin. My bones ache, my muscles spasm, my stomach is most unsettled, my head twitches, and I feel my easiness slip away. No amount of meditation or stillness can return my collectedness, can return my tranquility; I am stripped of control. It is a suffocating stir; an unexplainable torment, which even the most blissful activities cannot decompress. This feeling rushes through me with such overwhelming force, that the ire of it compels an uncontrollable spontaneous cough, at the most sporadic intervals. What this emotion is, I cannot say. I can merely list the gears that compose this bitter and utterly unpleasant sentiment: stress, nervousness and apprehension; an anxiety, the likes of which tear the fabric of my stillness apart. I hate it, I want to be rid of it, and it will not go away until May the fourth has passed.
Musing (Poem; Written approx. 2008)
Force of worlds, release me of tainted toils,
Shed your knowing stare,
And gaze upon me as your humble servant.
I accept your admonition of truth and your reconciliation of justice.
Judge me not by the blade I live by,
But instead the shield I die by.
Notice not the open hand I destroy with,
But rather the closed fist I create with.
Dark aura cloaking my sins be gone from my soul,
For not only do I revoke my ways of malice,
But still do I bear the lamenting cry for that which has already occurred.
I plead with thee,
Let me be thine arbiter of twilight.
Let me stand between and mediate with both realms of consciousness.
To thee I speak,
To thyself I must answer.
Shed your knowing stare,
And gaze upon me as your humble servant.
I accept your admonition of truth and your reconciliation of justice.
Judge me not by the blade I live by,
But instead the shield I die by.
Notice not the open hand I destroy with,
But rather the closed fist I create with.
Dark aura cloaking my sins be gone from my soul,
For not only do I revoke my ways of malice,
But still do I bear the lamenting cry for that which has already occurred.
I plead with thee,
Let me be thine arbiter of twilight.
Let me stand between and mediate with both realms of consciousness.
To thee I speak,
To thyself I must answer.
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