word dissociation


dox me, put my heart on the web
for the hungry spiders to steal
I don’t have a single digm to my name
so I’m not worried about the theft.
I’ll just revel in the fact you’re gon
forgotten, no longer part of my life…

and yet I’ll always want you mour
to indulge that vane side of myself
to give in to the lyse
to try and… but you foil my plans
by being you, by having a sol.
And as llax as my mind gets
trying to cope with these events,
you’ll always bles my mind
like I’m almost normal.



Sorry guys, I’m not ignoring the blog. I’ll be getting back to writing stuff as soon as I can snap out of this funk I’m in.

A little over two weeks ago I lost my pet duck, he meant a lot to me and it’s been a little tough.

Instead of writing, I’ve been focusing on developing copy. I think I need a change in my life, so I’m branching out. I’ll definitely be working on stories in the future but for now, I’m doing something different.


Naachtlager is a terrible product

Naachtlager is still a terrible product

Vikings are cool v2

Vampire of Time and Memory.

I guess I’m just sentimental, but I’ve been thinking about all the places and worlds I’ve visited in my lifetime. All the people I’ve met, grown attached to, and that we’ll never get to be with again.

We consume things so quickly in our society, discarding those things once we’re done. We might remember them for a few days, weeks, months, years, but eventually we forget them.

There is always an end, even though there shouldn’t be for some things.

That’s the real struggle of creating anything in the modern age. So glutted by content, we can discard the jewels along with the broken glass, there is no wheat nor chaff in the minds of people.
It’s not bad that there is so much content out there, it is bad that our perspective as a society has remained the same for ten thousand years. We’ve always been rabid consumers, devouring anything we can get our hands on. In the early days it was necessary. If you don’t feast you starve, and in the weeks and months after you had plenty of time to savour the memory.
When we boomed, so did our ability to feed ourselves, printing presses, pop-art, novels and kitsch, disco, punk and rock. We found new ways to reach more people, to spread ideas and share content.
But we didn’t change how we consume.
Inundated, we gorge and gorge, growing fat, bloated. And as we grow we require more feed to maintain our weight. A few hours without gluttony and we starve.

Take what you learn, hold it against your heart until it leaves an impression on you forever. Stain the things that deserve memory into your brain until you die.
We can only hope to survive in memory, so why deny that right to the fictional that have just as big an impact on our lives as the living?

About Today.

Hours crawl by, but time flies.

Nothing moves slower than depressed space. Staring at a blank white wall makes a black hole seem light. Depressed space, like standing in the centre of the galaxy, crushed into nothingness but conscious enough to watch time flow. Time bleed. It bleeds like the cold against the skin, get enough energy and you can escape but…
Is there entropy in the centre of nothingness. Is there heat…
Entropy is a process of the body, of the soul, of everything. Eventually something gives out, so… about today?

A rambling man makes no sense, and happiness blooms from ignorance. I weep today, because happiness makes me depressed. All my friends will always say, leave sorrow for tomorrow and live your life today.
If sorrow is for tomorrow, then I am a man before my time.
And about today…

After a while you just go numb.
All the pain, it’s still there but you no longer feel.
That moment, that’s when the biggest leap of faith doesn’t feel big at all.
Because there is an eternal amount of faith in the idea that after the fall, you won’t have to be numb.
So please just ask me, about today.

Not a story at all.

Half-way through my novel so far.
I hope everyone reading it is enjoying it.
Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who put me on their watchlist so far, and everyone that has liked my work in progress. It really helps bolster my spirits.

And I’m going to ruin that sincerity and sentiment and plug my patreon.
Oh, and I have a ko-fi.
And a twitter that I have been meaning to get back to. (I was going to do daily microfictions but illness got the better of me last few weeks)

Thanks again everyone, hopefully the second half of the book lives up to any expectations that anyone might have – for some reason.

happiness.equality.love. (not a story)

Australia recently sent out a non-binding survey about if Australians support the changing of law to allow same-sex marriage.
Today, actually around an hour ago, the results came back overwhelmingly for Yes, Australians do support same-sex marriage being allowed.

61.6% vs 38.4%.
7.8 million vs 4.8 million.

It’s a big day, proof that the majority supports them. That we’re not as homophobic as we always get led to believe. Sure maybe in some areas there is still hatred in people’s hearts, but overall we’re moving towards a better place.

More will need to be done, and there is always a fight ahead of those marginalized by society but today is a step in the right direction.

So today was a good day.

Hopefully in the future it won’t require a survey to know that not everyone out there wants you to suffer, that you can be happy and that equality is attainable. Just because you love someone, doesn’t mean you should be marginalized or down-trodden by those who feel they have some pre-ordained right to hate.

Love has won again, and hopefully very soon it will be legislated to reflect the fact that Australia voted yes.

The Painter’s Song.

Soft melodies shape the world with their touch.

The painter’s heart and the lightest brush.

Revive a canvas with the stain of reality.

The painter’s heart is the tone of the melody.

Rachael’s notes.

When I was young I was told I had magical potential. That only ever means that I could, if I wanted, pretend I had some form of power. Parlour tricks like turning mud into stone or water into whiskey. I could turn a pile of sticks into sausages, but they’ve taste terrible.

It takes a lot of time and effort and skill to do even these minor tricks. I watch Emilia hammer away at her machines and realise that I could never do a thousandth of anything quite so impressive.

The best use I’ve found for my abilities is creating paint. Well I guess I am a painter.


Oh Mesogrin, sweet Mesogrin.
Your shining walls so bright, guide us through the night, and lend to us your might.
Oh Mesogrin, sweet Mesogrin.
You stand by our side strong, through a night so long, even the moon grows tired.

Rachael’s Notes.

Whenever I picture Mesogrin, it is a shining city on the coast. White and gold, flowers blooming along the tree shaded avenues. Enough food for everyone, fresh clean water that doesn’t taste like metal. People, happy and healthy, going about their daily lives without having to worry about anything. Life where we live isn’t so bad, but if Mesogrin is paradise, I can’t help but imagine how much better life could be.

Journal Entry. Day 2, Month 11 of the Year 233.


On my journey south, I encountered their machines at every turn. Automatons and robots of various shapes, sizes and designs. Most common are the spiders-like machines which crawl about the shores of the Firelight Sea collecting the scrap that washes up upon the beaches. Deeper inland they are more scarce as salvageable materials become more scarce. Instead humanoid machines harvesting and farming the forests and steppe lands takes precedence. Talking to them, they offer little about Mesogrin, and relatively few seem aware of anything but themselves and their immediate surroundings.

Further south I came across an ambassador – one of those humanoid machines but fully aware, and intelligent. She told me about Mesogrin, that it is a utopia, a paradise where all humans could be happy.

When I asked her about what she thinks, she doesn’t answer. I don’t know why, it seems that maybe she doesn’t think she has it so good, or maybe I offended her. The role of the ambassadors is to go to towns and award promising people a passport to Mesogrin.

I travel with her for a while, she seems happy to have the company.

Mesogrin by her standards is a city of three million people, serviced by three times that number of what she called “non-sentient” machines and half a million “sentient” machines. Sentience by her reckoning is a measure of self-awareness and self-control.

‘A Human is sentient’, she tells me.

She is sentient.

I think I’ll keep travelling with her, there is a lot I can learn from her.

Journal Entry. Day 31, Month 5 of the Year 234.

Mesogrin is a beautiful city. Flowers bloom along the terrace roofs of thousands and thousands of houses. Strange square and blocky architecture with smooth white faces, red cloth sails, rivers and ponds snaking between them.

She told me I can never leave, and that I can never contact my daughter.

I hate them for it.

For all its beauty, I sense a darkness. They watch over me, like a paranoid parent, like a collector holding onto their dearest prize.

But they can’t hold me, I’m not going to be a captive in their zoo – no matter how content I could be in this cage.

Emilia’s Notes.

Mesogrin is a fantasy.
Every time an ambassador shows up in town, it steals away someone we need. When they hand you that red envelope, you know it’ll destroy your friends and family to tell them.

But opening it, taking that passport, leaving. Only an arsehole does that.

As much as I hate everything the demons have done to us, the Mesogrini are the true monsters out here.

Journal Entry #2.

Day 27, Month 8 of the Year 233.

I sat down, not truly knowing what I would be writing today. I am not at camp, it feels wrong to leave this place. I have found something remarkable, I sit in the hall of a ruined cathedral. I am unsure how to describe it other than transcendent.

Stained glass windows that colour the beams of light, each of them falling on the central altar. It seems impossible, but they are arranged like a clock-face. Twelve at the top surrounding a portal in the roof, then twenty four, then forty-eight I am

assuming. I lost count on the fourth row but there are seven rows of them each a different colour and a different pattern. Some are broken of course, but each somehow manages to shine in focused on that stone altar.

Upon the altar is nothing but holes where runes must have been inscribed. No doubt thieves stole the valuables here long ago, even going so far as to pry free the metals of the runes. There are a few prayer mats, not a great deal else.

Judging by the decor, it being so plain and inoffensive, these people worshipped the Lost God. Her faceless avatar is probably hidden somewhere deeper in the catacombs to save it from looters.

I suppose I should be glad that the cult of the seven pillars didn’t find this place like so many others I have stumbled upon in my research. Yet, seeing it so barren adds a sorrow to the beauty and awe. I’d very much like to bring my daughter here some day.

Notes on the Seven Pillars.

There are some who foolishly devote themselves to the cabals of the evils we have come to know as The Seven Pillars, demons by any other name. The seven demon lords refer to themselves as Pillars, in some vain appeal to a believe they hold up some kind of roof.

At face value they have a noble goal, they proclaim their desire to save humanity. But their insane notion of saving humanity involves the wholesale slaughter of women and men and children. This “Reaping” was the downfall of the old world.

But those who worship these vile fiends speak of immortal souls trapped in the pain and suffering of life. What a ridiculous notion. This mystical nonsense is why humanity has fallen so far, and why so many millions have died. Why the true God died.

But, I am an academic and I should be impartial.

Each Pillar represents, and this is in their own words, a method of control. As I understand there is; Might, Bribery, Intoxication, Desire, Hatred, Faith and Fear.

Each therefore has their own cabal, with their own cultures and their own philosophies. Each Pillar is the incarnation of this method of control and when united present themselves as the structure that holds up the fabric of all societies. Their followers fanatically follow what they will readily admit is a ridiculous idea; utter devotion to only one of these methods.

If they were not so vile they would be fascinating as they have a good point. These are truly how most societies organise themselves and those who are in power stay in power. Be it through might, or bribery. Some are more metaphorical than others, and truly if it weren’t for their masters I would admire these fools for their social experimentation.

Those that live by Might for example will fight one another for physical dominance. Those who are strongest typically have a higher social standing. It is a wonder how they remain functional, but perhaps it is the existence of the demons themselves that holds them together.

The three types of demons are themselves an extension of the Pillar, an embodiment of their philosophy. For instance, the High, Low and Lesser demons of the Pillar of Desire, are physical manifestations of that. Succubi are the Higher Demons of Desire, lustful creatures that are capable of seducing virtually anyone they meet. Those who fall into their snares are usually lost forever to their cabal of love-slaved fools. The Lower Demons of Desire, the Lamia, are far less alluring and instead show signs of other philosophies slipping through – such as the use of intoxicants and treasures to woo people into their fold. Lesser demons are… the only elegant way to put it is, they are the bastard offspring of unrelated demons.

It is not uncommon for the Pillars to crosspollinate, I have had the great misfortune of a run in with a Succubus that tried to convert me to the path of the Intoxicated. Little did I know at the time, and I will definitely avoid drinking so heavily in the future.

Perhaps the best way to think of them is as tribes. Though most of them look as though they are animals to one another, it is obvious by the existence of the Lesser Demons that they are one species as with Humans. And that they have the same moral and philosophical flexibility as humans, but it is their cultures that they are surrounded by upon birth that makes them the way they are.

Do not mistake my words for being soft – evil is evil, and even more so knowing they have free will. I do however see why the weak-minded could become drawn to them.

Notes on the Lost God.

We know relatively little about her, other than that she was referred to by the precursors as She. Or, The Redeemer. Or, The Merciful. The stories that remain in collective consciousness are interesting ones.
We do not name her, for she has forsaken her name to give language to humanity.
We do not depict her face, for she offered it so that we may know beauty.

She was the one who created the Mesogrini to fight against the Pillars.

She died destroying the Uniter of the Pillars.

It is said that she was a human once, who rose to become God after discovering magic. And that when humanity angered her by summoning the Pillars, she could have easily erased us all to start over. Instead she stayed her hand and gave us the choice of redemption.

It was under her guidance that the Redeemer Knights were formed, and would go on to protect humanity since the end of the precursors.

Given how much she has done, it seems a real shame that we know so little else. A handful of stories about what she has done and a thousand references as little more than “Her, She, The Redeemer, The Merciful, God.”

Perhaps I’ll find answers about her in my expeditions south.