Agents of the Eye and Ear

I wrote a realistic fantasy adventure about elves. I call them "fairies" as I do all the fairy folk in their fairyland. There is no airy fairy, mind you. The magic does not sparkle, zap or blast. Wizards are skillful in wizardry but are no match for warriors in a fight. There is no "ultimate power" to be had. The world does not hang in the balance easily. Heroes are uncommon and villains have responsibilities.

I was inspired by modern fantasy and the legends of old alike. Worlds of swords and magic are thrilling and fantastic to say the least.

I write fairy tales. Like Robert E. Howard (Conan) and J.R.R. Tolkien (the Lord of the Rings) mine are gritty. The swords do draw blood and the magic does require effort. The fiction has a basis in reality. Homages to the history and legends of old are throughout.

Conan is wonderful because his Hyborean Age is a believable world of survival-of-the-fittest with undercurrents of lurking horror. The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are wonderful because their Middle-earth is a believable world of danger and hope caught in the maelstrom of unseen forces. Howard and Tolkien set the highest standard for the fantasy genre. I was mindful of what their works have in common.

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Beyond the Pale

I write fairy tales. My fantasy, horror and science fiction are all weird stories about strange entities. I have been asked why I never write anything “normal” or “real” or whatever else we call the mundane. My knowledge of history has begged the question why I never write historical fiction.

I am spiritual. I see the material for the thin veneer of reality that it is. My thoughts and feelings run deeper than its superficial layer. My fantasies are not whimsical. My stories and their characters are all about reality.

The soul is first and foremost in all my thoughts. Who we are before we act and what we become afterwards are all that matters.

The humans in my stories are always foolish weaklings. Most of them are nonentities who languish or perish for being witless and helpless. The few who are bold in their foolishness and resourceful in their weakness are the relevant characters. These few may die and even suffer an inglorious death but never are they tossed onto the pile of the irrelevant many.

The strange characters in my stories are either corrupted humans, not entirely human or simply not human. They are typically stronger, tougher, faster and smarter than humans. They slaughter our nonentities with ease and impunity. Only those of us beyond our paltry sum of being mortal and only human can hope to best them.

The soul, not our feral and temporal meat, is our humanity. Our imagination, not our intellect, is what enables us to see and act beyond the pale. I write fairy tales because anything less is rambling in vain.

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The Ultimate Damsel in Distress

SCREAM QUEENS are popular because they are sexy. Whether the good girl who survives or the bad girl who perishes, we relish watching them cringe and scream.

The heroine is a female protagonist as a warrior. The damsel in distress is a female protagonist as a noncombatant. It is sexy when a heroine fights. It is sexy when a damsel in distress cringes and screams. The only difference between the two sexually is the one does her thing on top.

Not long ago society was uncomfortable with the idea of heroines. The damsel in distress was considered proper. Now society is uncomfortable with the damsel in distress and the heroine is deemed proper. The mainstream comfort zone proves wavering, thus, ultimately irrelevant.

Our nature never changes. We play our silly games in the vain hope that if everyone pretends together then our nonsense will become reality. I have no use for such stupidity.

Perception is not reality. If truth was in the eye of the beholder then no one would be stupid or insane.

A young woman bound and gagged is sexy. Two girls kissing is sexy. A nubile female swaying her hips is sexy. Watching her lick anything is wonderfully maddening. The scream queen of horror is the damsel in distress of adventure. She is the girl bound and gagged or kissing another girl or dancing or licking while our tongues wag.

Fiction's damsel in distress is an archetype in many forms. The scream queen is her latest and arguably her best... because horror is all about victims.

Vanity

Reality is dysfunctional. People are crippled, deformed, diseased or otherwise languishing. The confounding of language reduced individual expression to impersonal gibberish. Our wars are more grueling terror than contests of courage and prowess. We are doomed to wither and perish.

Culture is sheep. Politics is wolves in sheep's clothing. Our institutions provide few good shepherds.

The failings of God are not my failings. There is no "original sin" in the eyes of freedom and justice. There is no "right or wrong" beyond cause and effect. Good and evil are never ideological or otherwise impersonal. The many are never greater than one.

There is no "science" in reality. Application mindful of cause and effect gives us technology. Notions of themselves are nothing.

Reality and its creator are inadequate. If it were otherwise their appeal would not be born of our desperation. Alas, our quandary is their very failing.

Mighty men are dead men, no matter their wealth and power. The wise are fools no matter their understanding for they are bound to a mindless nature. The common are useless no matter their labors for all by their hands is dust and ashes.

Do or do not but do so quickly for we are mortal. Find strength in your weakness for such is the glory of being human. Celebrate your ignorance by imagining better. You are one even if lost in a crowd. Only vanity is ever in vain.

World War Two

World War 1 was a cynical bloodbath. World War 3 will be a fruitless holocaust. World War 2 is the only global war that shall ever be inspiring.

The tragedy of Pearl Harbor was avenged by the glorious Battle of Midway. The conquest of France was followed by the Battle of Britain. The Nazi march eastward ground to a halt in Stalingrad.

Sleek war machines fought on land, in the air and at and under the sea. Fields of grass or snow, forests of firs or jungle, deserts and cities were all battlegrounds. Heroes and heroines made names for themselves.

The struggle of good against evil is rare in history yet it was the struggle of World War 2. The regime of evil was ruled by an eccentric mastermind and its forces commanded by officers in stylish uniforms. Mad science and unbelievable atrocities were policy.

Reality is dysfunctional and its greatest moment is no exception. The war of good against evil gave way to a war kept cold by the threat of mutually assured destruction. The flamboyant villainy of Hitler gave way to the petty ambitions of bureaucrats and oligarchs. Battles are now police actions in lands barely worth fighting for.

World War 2 was a fictional war of good against evil as a real war. For all its death and destruction humanity thrived because of it. Sadly, its legacy and eventual successor shall be to our needless ruin.

Primal Energy

Killing is thrilling, especially when the killer and killed are human beings. A manly killer who slays in combat is manly indeed. A sexy woman murdered is sexy indeed. Wars are the prowess of tribes and nations.

Sex and violence are intrinsically linked. Both are primal and passionate. Both are driven by desire. Both are life and death.

Violence was and is glorified because it is stark clarity in our world of confusion. Yes, war and murder are chaos but an act of violence is what it is regardless of its context. Dead is dead whether the death was right or wrong.

Sex for all its bumping and grinding is reproduction. Law and order for all the sanctimony are fear of punishment. Tribes and nations are strength in numbers. The world is violence and the threat of violence perpetuated by sex.

I am a writer, artist, game designer and music maker. I enjoy my libido and aggression without defiling or otherwise hurting anyone. I relish the passions and put them to good use. I am creating from the drives so often squandered in wars and murders.

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Sentries and Throngs

Surprise or anticipation consummated by unceremonious violence and perhaps an inglorious death scene: silencing the sentry.

Armed yet helpless. Vigilant yet oblivious. What is uneventful for the assailant is horrible for the victim. It is the ironies of silencing the sentry that make it interesting.

An elaborate silencing technique is extraneous. A gruesome death is disgusting. The sentry giving the assailant a good fight is anticlimactic. A silencing the sentry moment is dramatic understatement as quick and easy violence: Anything more is something less.

One or few against waves of outmatched baddies: hero versus throngs.

An alarm is triggered or the protagonists find they were lured into a trap. The valiant must stand their ground against overwhelming odds. Regardless of the spark, the fire burns the same. The thrill is that excellence is outfighting the endless droves of mediocrity.

The hero usually “wins” by escaping the relentless throngs. The many must kill or capture the one or few but the one or few bear no such burden. The deaths of the many are inglorious whether they kill or capture the hero or not. The fate of the hero is glorious whether he escapes or not. That one or few dared defy the many is the hero’s glory.

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