Dear Tanim and Daren,

Yeah. Hi. Remember me? Your faithful, humble scribe? The one who’s devoted her entire existence to chronicling your endless, messed up lives? The one who’s been available to you 24/7/365 for the past twelve years?

Right. That one. Good. Now that I’ve jogged your memory a bit, I just have a quick question for you both…

What. The fuck. Is going on here?

Seriously. Virtually no contact for, what, two months now? Three? What exactly have you been up to in that time? Are you on a fucking vacation or something and just happened to forget to leave a note? I’m not running a shitty poetry blog here; you have to give me something to work with so I can stop vomiting out bad haiku. That’s the deal, isn’t it? You do your thing, fuck or fight or whine, I don’t really care, and I write it all down. That’s the deal.

Let me be straight with you: It is way too fucking hot for you bitchy motherfuckers to go full on radio silence on me. I know it’s always angsty-rain-clouds where you are, but over here we’re having what you call a god dammed heat wave and I am way. too. hot. to keep playing nice.

So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get your shit together and start giving me something to write or I swear to every god in the multiverse that I will straight up unleash the insane pirate elf on you. Don’t make me get Mage involved; you know that bitch is just itching for a fight. So do the right thing and nobody gets hurt any more than they respectively enjoy being hurt.

Finally, in closing:


The Scribe


Summer nights like this, hot and dead, my legs recall the endless circles paced along well worn paths, between brick buildings and silent chapels, dormitory windows slid wide to catch a nonexistent breeze. Sleepless nights like this, my legs itch to run but you are sleeping fitfully beside me and I no longer need to go seeking in the dark, headphones blaring Eisley and Imogen Heap, Sixpence None the Richer urging me onward another loop in the endless quest for something which couldn’t possibly be real yet lays at my side now, a lifetime later. I sought you for so long that on these stifling nights my body still falls into the familiar rhythm, the need to pace, to pine, to be unsettled and unfulfilled, the impulse almost overwhelming until I turn over and brush my hand across your bare skin to feel your warmth and life beneath my touch, the proof of our reality; the proof we no longer need to wander in lonely circles on restless nights and return, exhausted, to empty beds – our seeking is over.


[ A small sampling of the songs that remind me strongly of Tanim, Daren, and Mage. ]


Battle for the Sun – Placebo
Run to You – Pentatonix
Protoge Moi – Placebo
Gold Guns Girls – Metric
Lost in the Shadows – The Lost Boys
I Will Follow You Into the Dark – Deathcab for Cutie
Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) – The Eurythmics
Every You Every Me – Placebo
Say Something – A Great Big World
Love Me Broughte – The Medieval Baebes


Broken Promise – Placebo
Cold (But I’m Still Here) – Evans Blue
Lonely Ghosts – O+S
Mykonos – Fleet Foxes
Running Up That Hill – Placebo
The World – Yuki Kajiura
The Pit – Silversun Pickups
To Be Alone With You – Sufjan Stevens
The Bitter End – Placebo
Dirty Knife – Neko Case


Dead Men Tell No Tales – Muppet Treasure Island
Brand New Day – Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog
Bedlam Boys – traditional
Radioactive – Imagine Dragons
Hysteria – Muse
Inner Universe – Ghost in the Shell
Resident Evil Main Theme – Rob Zombie
Team – Lorde
Love Song – Snake River Conspiracy
Exile – Enya


take my voice, sea witch
grant me fine legs in return
a worthwhile bargain
even if each step pains me
at least I’ll be like the rest

take my voice, sea witch
after all, what use are words?
brief, untouchable
yet flesh is warm and solid
bone and blood make us human

take my voice, sea witch
I just want to be normal
feel the things I should
I long to walk on the shore
but now longing’s not enough

take my voice, sea witch
change the self I never chose
give me sensation
for I’ve given up on words
and now I’d give anything

#1425 – Are Asexuals Talking About Maleficent?

Because we should be!

(Spoilers below – obviously)


I watched Maleficent last Wednesday and since then I’ve been trying to pinpoint why I can’t stop thinking about this movie. Yes, it’s partly the kick-ass female villain. Yes, it’s partly those killer cheekbones – and every other stylistic choice in the film. And yes, it’s partly the soundtrack I’ve been playing on repeat for eight hours. But the real reason, the important reason, just hit me.

This is a movie made for asexuals.

Here we have a big budget film wildly popular (no matter what some reviews say) across the country, one little girls will obsess over for years… and the main character is a female villain who is never sexualized, never engages (to our knowledge) in a sexual relationship, and whose ultimate redemption is realized through a completely platonic true love for someone of her own gender.

That’s the greatest, most beautiful twist of the movie: Maleficent’s true love is Aurora, the little girl she has grown to protect and cherish over sixteen years. Even when you see this twist coming, it still hits you right in the heart, because this is something we simply don’t see in truly mainstream media. Motherly love? Sure. Sisterhood? Sometimes. But never like this. Platonic love never outshines romantic love, not in an industry that still believes every woman on the planet requires a romantic plot line to keep her interested in a movie. But in Maleficent romantic love fails to wake Sleeping Beauty, and only Maleficent’s platonic love for Aurora can break the spell.

Is anyone else not super fucking excited about this? One of history’s greatest fairy tales, again on the big screen, and there’s no romantic plot line. We never know whether Aurora and Prince Phillip get together; in fact, they barely spend more than one scene together in the whole movie. We never find out if Maleficent falls in love again. And why? Because it doesn’t matter. This is a movie about one woman’s journey through betrayal, anger, regret, and ultimately redemption. She doesn’t need to fall in love. She’s her own savior.

This isn’t supposed to be an in-depth analysis of Maleficent’s pros and cons as a feminist tale. There are countless other people writing those reviews, both positive and negative. But as an asexual who has craved all her life for something mainstream that shows you don’t need romance to drive a storyline, that proves love comes in all forms (and that all forms of love are equal), I just feel compelled to voice my admiration of this movie. Whether the creators know it or not, they’ve given something to the asexual community, and for that I’m grateful.


Here’s the thing: Annabelle smells like lavender. And not fake lavender, like scented shampoo or the cheap body spray so many girls use that makes them taste like chemicals. No, I’m talking fresh wild lavender, wet with dew and everything. She smells like the fucking first day of spring. What am I supposed to do? I try to be good, really; I try to focus on the other students around us, bubblegum-scented Bianca and earthy Diane, Ellen’s fresh soap smell and Vivian’s musk, but my nose wanders until I’m drooling over Annabelle again. Unlike the others, her scent isn’t fabricated. It wafts from her pores like she has lavender in her blood, so strong and heady I wonder why no one else notices. I’m surprised she doesn’t have a cloud of bees on her heels, hummingbirds and butterflies trying to lap at her ivory skin. (Oh, how I’d like to lap at that skin…)

I want to forget about her, really, I do. There are plenty of others here who would be just as satisfying and don’t cause me any… unnatural feelings. But I haven’t bothered to change schools yet, or classrooms, or even seats; I just keep staring at the back of Annabelle’s head, daydreaming about running my fingers through her silky orange-gold hair (and since when do our kind daydream?). I’m not even being all that good, really. I mean, I haven’t eaten her or anything, which I suppose is “good” by certain standards, but it’s not like I’m not using every trick in the book to catch her eye. It’s like she’s immune to my charms, but that can’t be possible… right?

This is totally mortifying. I mean, it’s bad enough being a succubus who might, well… like a human (or at least not want to eat them because they’re just too pretty and sweet and their laugh is like– ugh, shut up!) but it’s even worse if I can’t even get them to glance my way. Every instinct inside me is screaming at me to ramp up the charm and hook this girl, my mouth watering at the thought of hot flesh and blood, and yet… the flip-flopping in my stomach isn’t hunger. I don’t know what it is. All I know is when I imagine the night of passion we might share, Annabelle and I, it doesn’t end in me sucking out her bone marrow (would it taste like lavender?). It doesn’t end at all, actually. I can see the dawn, and the way its light would fall on her pale skin, her upturned lips. And that’s the image that makes my stomach flutter.

Crap. I’m, like, the worst succubus ever.

[ EXPLANATION: So I had this idea for a Twilight shoujo-ai parody where instead of a male vampire who falls in love with the female protagonist and must overcome his urge to drink her blood, it's a succubus who falls in love with the female protagonist and must overcome her urge to eat her flesh. It's set at an all-girls school to which the succubus, named Remr'knali'v'sarna'nbat'shi (Remer or Bats for short), transfers in the guise of a new student in order to find fresh meat. The twist is that she falls in love with this chick, Annabelle, who is asexual and therefore immune to her sexy succubus powers. So not only does Remer have to fight her basic succubus nature and not EAT the girl she loves, but she has to learn how to show her love in a non-sexual way and win Annabelle's heart.

Hilarious hijinx ensue. Life lessons are learned. Unimportant characters get eaten. ]


What an ironic curse, a perverted fairy tale, that instead of a man turned beast to punish sin it is a beast turned man to punish the beauty foolish enough to fall in love with a monster. Hah! See how the bonds of affection chain not the beast’s hunger, but the beauty’s heart? See how she struggles not to free the humanity within, but to preserve its fragile shell without? A beast with the soul of a man may remember what it is to love and be loved; a man with the soul of a beast, however, is at core a thing of violence and madness, and no beauty may gentle its captive rage.


we are not living in a fairy tale, we are made of fairy tales, restless blood and enchanted dreams, your soul the brave knight yearning for a respite from constant battle and my heart the high tower within which the captive beauty pines, a wild thing caged with no room to spread her wings, and alone we raged and wept and bled to change our fates, forever to no avail, our aspects as incomplete as the sun without moon, east without west, waging separate futile wars until a twist of benevolent Providence braided our paths, fused our destinies, and now together our laughter and touch and whispers in the dark form the secret spell with which to break the curse on us both, unburden the knight and crumble the tower, so dawn may find our limbs entwined like the trunks of young saplings in a forest grown overnight


April 16th, 1912

I have only just now found time to write, it has been so very chaotic the last two days. How lucky I am, little journal, that I carry you with me always! I could not bear to think of you at the bottom of the ocean, all my dreams and secrets lost forever in those cold depths. But oh, how many others were lost in such a manner – so many lives we still do not yet know the full count!

I have never been so frightened, dear journal. At first they would tell us nothing of any use; when I asked if something had happened to the ship the crewmen treated me as if I were a child asking silly questions! Mother and Father told me not to worry, but there were many among us as restless as I. When it was announced that those of us in first class should head onto the deck (think of it! on such a cold night!), many people began to argue and spread rumors. I overheard someone say an engine had died; another that this was simply a drill and would soon be completed; someone even claimed we had hit an iceberg and were sinking!

At first I did not believe such dramatic stories, but then the crewmen announced first class women and children should board the lifeboats. I did not think, even then, that a mere drill would require such drastic actions, especially in the middle of the night. By then my fellow passengers were in a panic, and the rumors became truth – we truly had struck an iceberg and the Titanic, that purportedly unsinkable ship, was foundering beneath our feet. If we did not evacuate, we would surely go down into the black waters as well.

Journal, you will think me foolish for my actions, but I swear I acted without thought. One moment I was standing by Mother in preparation to board one of the lifeboats and the next I was running through the crowd, pushing my way back from the deck and into the dining room. I had to find her, journal. That was my only thought. I had to find the girl I had traded glances with over dinner, smiled to secretly as she placed a plate before me or refilled my glass. I did not know her name, had no way to find her on such a great vessel, but I had to try.

In the dining room, where chairs were overturned and meals left half eaten, the serving maids had gathered in fear. No one had told them what to do; I doubt anyone gave a thought for the staff in such a crisis. And there she was, my angel, my beauty, doing her best to calm her fellows and soothe their fears. I should have left her to her duty, perhaps, but as I said, journal, I could hardly think for fear. I grabbed her hand and pulled her with me, saying nothing to her surprised questions save that she must come with me, that we must escape the doomed ship. I remember little of our flight, only that her hand in mine was very warm.

Somehow we made our way through the crowd and to a boarding lifeboat. The crewman assisting ladies into the boat would have let me pass, but he held his hand out to my companion. Even with the deck tilting beneath our feet, still he refused to let my companion board with me, citing her lower class. You would be proud of me in this moment, at least, journal: I squared my shoulders, put my hands on my hips like any stern matron, and told the man this girl was my servant and that if he expected a lady like me to travel alone, and refused her admittance, then I too would remain on the ship. How white he turned, journal! Sometimes I am quite grateful for my station in life. He let us both pass without another word and we climbed into the lifeboat.

Oh journal, I cannot put to words how it broke my heart to hear the cries of fellow passengers as we watched the ship sink beneath the waves! Surely it shall haunt my dreams for many years. I turned my face into my companion’s shoulder and wept, and we held each other through the long, cold night. I do not know what I would have done, had I not had her by my side. We have been inseparable since.

Those of us who survived the sinking (so strange to call myself that – a survivor!) are on a different ship now, one that shall take us the rest of the way to New York. I have promised my companion she shall have a place in our home, for I cannot bear the thought of parting and swear to keep her close as I may. If this harrowing experience has taught me anything, it is that we must keep close the things we cherish, or risk losing them when least expected.

I will write more soon. You remain as always, little journal, my confidante.

- E


You are your own card, last in the deck, The Deceiver with no honest man to balance your influence. The chalice cupped in your outstretched hands could hold anything; blood or tears or semen, wine or poison. Drawn alone, are you friend or foe? Set beside another card, do you muddle its message, twist the meaning of the spread? Even inverted you pose a threat, your proffered cup empty and waiting to be filled. You’ve your allies – the veiled moon, the crumbling tower – but ultimately you stand alone. Your very presence in the deck causes a constant anxiety, as if even when not drawn your power seeps into the telling.


Snow White in your coffin of glass
I have come to wake you
I will suck out the witch’s poison
replace its bitterness with my honey
and kiss your lips
and kiss your lids
and kiss you ’til you wake.

Sleeping Beauty in your prison of thorn
I have come to wake you
I will cup your face in battered hands
torn by vines and burned by flame
and kiss your lips
and kiss your brow
and kiss you ’til you wake

Shakespeare’s Sister in your unmarked grave
I have come to wake you
I will dig until my fingers bleed
unearth you from your bed of clay
and kiss your lips
and kiss your palms
and kiss you ’til you wake


I would venture into the dark forest for you, brave the monsters of which we do not speak, the old vengeful gods of sacrifice and punishment which leave their marks over our lintels by night, for in the light of day you’ll see they are but creatures of flesh and blood, as easily cut down as us fragile mortals, and cut them down I shall to lay the felled fell beasts at your feet, my hand outstretched, and when you join yours to mine I shall draw you away into the conquered forest where we will reign as kings, gods, lords of the green hall, and never more shall the shadows hold sway over us.


how strange and beautiful
our capacity to love
so many so deeply
for are you not sister and lover
swordsman and sun goddess
fierce wolf and, yes,
even that vulnerable
frightened girl
(whom I love most of all
did you know that?)
just as he is brother and lover
savior and sacrifice
tormentor and tormented
and the other
oh, oh
the other
the mad duke
the twisted king
the ice prince bound in pain
so precious and so wounded
each one loved as part of the whole
and again loved as whole in itself
such love so beautiful and strange
that any heart may contain it

(and yes, dear sister-lover
I know what you wish to ask:
what do I see, who do I see, in myself?
how many?
but that is for you to answer
those ones for you to love or leave
for they mean nothing to me
without you)


You starved from lack and loss and they buried you in a crossroads grave, nameless, forgotten, but I have always known you and I built a cathedral upon that axis, monument and beacon both, sentinel and soul’s vow, and therein I have waited all these long years. To you, lonely spirit seeking the shelter of belonging, the embrace of completion, my doors are always open, and barred tight against those who mean you harm. Cry sanctuary! and fall into me, let me hold you to my breast and smooth away your tears. Specter no more, take a drop of my blood and a tear from my eye and resurrect like a phoenix from your ashes, sister to my own heartbeat, lover to my own breath. Be reborn as the goddess, the angel, the Valkyrie with blade in hand; and I shall be your temple, your holy ground, your Valhalla.

#1344 – 2013 Book List

  1. The First Law Book 3: Last Argument of Kings– Joe Abercrombie
  2. Havemercy – Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett
  3. Hogfather – Terry Pratchett
  4. Reaper Man – Terry Pratchett
  5. Mort – Terry Pratchett
  6. Soul Music – Terry Pratchett
  7. Thief of Time – Terry Pratchett
  8. Heritage of Hastur – Marion Zimmer Bradley
  9. Sharra’s Exile – Marion Zimmer Bradley
  10. A Perfect Waiter – Alaine Claude Suzler
  11. By the Mountain Bound – Elizabeth Bear
  12. Good Omens – Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
  13. Hastur Lord – Marion Zimmer Bradley
  14. The Song of Achilles – Madeline Miller
  15. I, Pierre Seel, Deported Homosexual: A Memoir of Nazi Terror – Pierre Seel
  16. Don’t Let Me Go – Catherine Ryan Hyde
  17. Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells: An Anthology of Gaslight Fantasy – Terry Windling and Ellen Datlow
  18. Sorcery and Cecilia, or: The Enchanted Chocolate Pot – Patricia Wrede and Caroline Stevermer
  19. Into This River I Drown – TJ Klune
  20. Range of Ghosts – Elizabeth Bear
  21. Lord of the White Hell: Book 1 – Ginn Hale
  22. Lord of the White Hell: Book 2 – Ginn Hale
  23. The Archer’s Heart: Book 1 – Astrid Amara
  24. The Archer’s Heart: Book 2 – Astrid Amara
  25. The Archer’s Heart: Book 3 – Astrid Amara
  26. Irregulars – Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Astrid Amara, Ginn Hale
  27. Strange Fortune – Josh Lanyon
  28. Red Dragon – Thomas Harris
  29. The Silence of the Lambs – Thomas Harris
  30. Freedom – Jay Kirkpatrick
  31. Unnatural Creatures: Stories Selected by Neil Gaiman – Neil Gaiman
  32. Line and Orbit – Lisa Soem and Sunny Moraine
  33. Every Day – David Levithan
  34. Awake – Brian Katcher, Robin Reardon, Jordan Taylor
  35. Story of a Comfort Girl – Roger Rudick
  36. How Beautiful the Ordinary: Twelve Stories of Identity – Michael Cart
  37. Crack the Darkest Sky Wide Open – TJ Klune, Eric Arvin, SJD Peterson
  38. Greenwode – J Tullos Hennig
  39. Kirith Kirin – Jim Grimsley
  40. Beyond Binary: Genderqueer and Sexually Fluid Speculative Fiction – Steve Berman
  41. Wilde Stories 2013: The Year’s Best Gay Speculative Fiction – Steve Berman
  42. The Fire’s Stone – Tanya Huff
  43. The Martian Chronicles – Ray Bradbury
  44. Fearsome Journeys – ed. Jonathan Stratham
  45. Brothers of the Wild North Sea – Harper Fox
  46. Psychos: Serial Killers, Depraved Madmen, and the Criminally Insane – ed. John Skipp
  47. Men of the Mean Streets: Gay Noir – various
  48. So Fey: Queer Fairy Fiction – ed. Steve Berman
  49. Before and Afterlives – Christopher Barzak
  50. Time Well Bent: Queer Alternative Histories – ed. Connie Wilkins
  51. Hellebore and Rue: Tales of Queer Women and Magic – ed. Lisa Morton
  52. Love Devours: Tales of Monstrous Adoration – Sarah Diemer
  53. Project Unicorn, Volume 1 – Sarah Diemer and Jennifer Diemer
  54. The Dark Wife – Sarah Diemer
  55. Twixt – Sarah Diemer
  56. Death by Silver – Melissa Scott and Amy Griswold
  57. This is How You Die: Stories of the Inscrutable, Infallible, Inescapable Machine of Death – Ed. Ryan North, Matthew Bennardo, and David Malki
  58. Zeus Grants Stupid Wishes: A No-Bullshit Guide to World Mythology – Cory O’Brien
  59. London Triptych – Jonathan Kemp
  60. Boston Marriages – Ed. Esther Rothblum and Kathleen Brehony
  61. Like Light for Flies – Lee Thomas
  62. The Lavender Menace: Tales of Queer Villainy – Ed. Tom Cardamone
  63. Ash Street – Lee Thomas
  64. Swordspoint – Ellen Kushner
  65. The Dust of Wonderland – Lee Thomas
  66. In the Closet, Under the Bed – Lee Thomas
  67. Tell the Wolves I’m Home – Carol Rifka Brunt
  68. Two Boys Kissing – David Levithan
  69. Skin – Kathe Koja
  70. The Cipher – Kathe Koja
  71. Paddle Your Own Canoe – Nick Offerman
  72. Aisling Book One – Carol Cummings
  73. Aisling Book Two – Carol Cummings
  74. Aisling Book Three – Carol Cummings
  75. Shirewode – J Tullos Hennig
  76. An Arrow’s Flight – Mark Merlis
  77. The Privilege of the Sword – Ellen Kushner
  78. Fire From Heaven – Mary Renault
  79. The Persian Boy – Mary Renault
  80. Overqualified – Joey Comeau



  1. The Privilege of the Sword – Ellen Kushner
  2. Sabriel – Garth Nix
  3. Hogfather – Terry Pratchett
  4. Welcome to Bordertown – ed. Holly Black
  5. Reaper Man – Terry Pratchett


Achilles tore down an army in his blind red rage to avenge cherished Patroklos. Alexander hacked off his hair and built a golden pyre tall as the sky to give beloved Hephaestion his due. But what has Tanim for his own dearest Daren? In what form may his grief for the fallen companion find honor and release? There is no one to punish, to crucify, to slaughter; no one to share his mourning, bewail the dead, cover the city in black. There is no oracle from which to beg godhead or loyal followers to mix the lovers’ ashes and entomb them together. He is alone. Alone in his grief, alone in his anger, alone in his burden of memory and future. No monument to his mourning will last the ages, nor tales be told of a love so devoted that neither could bear the absence of the other. When Tanim dies he will take everything they were to his unmarked grave.


T’was the night before Christmas
The ground snowy soft
As Tanim sat drinking
Up in his loft
Alcohol bottles
Littered the bed
And nameless ghosts swirled
Through the man’s head
He felt so alone
And though he knew why
He cared not to live
But only to die
Vice after vice
He tried to find rest
To numb the hollow
Of the heart in his chest
When on the balcony
There arose such a clatter
Tanim sprang up
To see what was the matter
Away to the glass door
He flew like a flash
Tore open the curtains
And pulled down the sash
The moon on the breast
Of the new-fallen snow
Gave a lustre
To the grey world below
When what to his wondering
Eyes he beheld
A dagger-thin man
With silver hair, felled
Stumps on his shoulders
So jagged and red
Tanim opened the door
Knelt down and said
“Who are you, sir?
And what is your name?
Can you please tell me
From whence you came?”
“I only know death
And I only know pain”
The sorrow in his voice
The man could not feign
Before he could think
Tanim drew the man near
“Don’t be frightened, sir,
You’ll be safe here”
The man, with reluctance
Gave Tanim his trust
He was tired of running
And rest he must
The broken man leaned
Heavily on Tanim’s arm
Who moved very slowly
So as not to do harm
“Daren” he said
“Is how I am known
I have neither favor
Nor grace to loan
But I am indebted
To you and your own”
Tanim listened
To the man’s tale
Learned of his
Utter desire to fail
To leave the realm of angels
Where he was stuck
How he leapt from the sky
And landed with luck
On a loft in a city
Dreary and cold
But more stunning
Than his kin ever doled
Touched, Tanim leaned close
To give him a kiss
The fallen angel
Reared away with a hiss
“Don’t touch me!” he screamed
“You don’t know what I am!”
“You’re as shattered as me!”
“I don’t give a damn!”
Then from under his shirt
The angel drew steel
“Is this all a trick?
Are you even real?”
“Put down the knife
Come here and feel”
Daren stepped forward
To touch the man’s cheek
And found more
Than he intended to seek
The two men embraced
‘neath the moon’s silver light
And for the first time
Tanim’s Christmas
Was a beautiful night.

[ My wonderful girlfriend wrote this parody poem for me for Christmas. See how talented she is? Now go read her stuff! ]


He pushes, palms to slick, cool gold, shoulders weighted with a thousand judgments as the gates slowly part before him and he crosses the threshold, blade in hand, staring straight ahead in defiance and denial of the knowing gazes all around, let them test his devotion, head high and heart a wild thing in his chest he steps forward without hesitation, as if he has walked such holy ground before, without hesitation or fear or intimidation until… until… until, oh, the sea parts and he falters, forever unprepared to stand as if naked beneath that dark gaze so piercing, he falters and the blade falls from slack fingers, and as the other approaches so he follows the abandoned weapon, drops numb to his knees with mouth open but no words emerging, so focused on this impossibility, the black eyes, the willow body framed in wings so white they hurt to look upon, and all he can do is reach his hands out to this vanished vision and finally utter the barest whimper as familiar hands reach to close the distance between them, the sound a prayer pleading just one touch, begging to let them come away from this place, their fingertips are so close and if he could just feel those hands one last—

He wakes, the whimper still on his lips, and turns his head to press his cheek to the cold white marble, no fit resting place for the living nor the dead, and fingers denied always that last touch reach up to trace the carven letters, Beloved spelled in a braille he has always known and would give anything to forget.

I will break down the gates of heaven
A thousand angels stand waiting for me,
Oh, take my heart and I’ll lay down my weapons
Break my shackles to set me free…
I’ll run, I’ll run, I’ll run,
run to you.


What do I want?

I want revenge. I want absolution. I want nothing. I want to be worthy. I want to unravel this world. I want choice. I want release. I want revolution. I want to wake the dreamers with gunpowder and flame. I want to feel nothing. I want to sow sanctuary’s ruins with salt. I want to break from this cycle. I want to lay a wasteland in my wake. I want to covet and possess. I want to be enough. I want to succumb to the beast I am inside. I want to force you to see the truth. I want to punish the believers. I want to undo every mistake I’ve made. I want control. I want to tear the wings from my back. I want you to beg forgiveness, weep at my feet, surrender yourself. I want to see attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I want to watch c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. I want to show you who you truly are. I want to deny the person I’ve become. I want to break myself open. I want to go down in lightning and thunder. I want to be something more than this. I want to walk between worlds. I want to be nothing. I want them to fear my coming. I want blood and tears. I want ruin. I want beauty. I want finality. I want chaos. I want peace. I want silence. I want one chance.

That is what I want.


there is no sound like Tanim’s loss, bereft of love, one half of a broken bond that should bleed from such violation but is instead so achingly empty, so undeniably gone, ceased, cut like light from his eyes, nothing on Earth nor in Heaven or Hell to match the anguished howl that erupts from more than mortal lungs, pours forth from body and heart and soul and mind all lost in the darkness as he cries down the Furies, the Hunt, the sky itself piece by piece with his agony, shattered by the Sun’s rage that is not the desire to punish what remains but the inability to contain the wasteland within him, no reason now to spare the world when his world is nothing, when he is nothing, when there is nothing, nothing, nothing…


[ The following is an Ovilus III session conducted in the location commonly referred to as Suicide Alley. Approximately one year ago police were called to the scene after receiving reports of gunshots in the vicinity. On arrival officers found the bodies of two men, one with a fatal gunshot wound to the chest and the other with a fatal gunshot wound to the temple. The incident was reported as a murder/suicide and since neither man carried any form of identification, the case was soon closed. In the past year many people have reported paranormal activity in the area, including black figures, sounds of gunshots and weeping, and intense feelings of fear, guilt, and sorrow. ]

(11:31:15) Investigator: Is anyone here?

(11:31:30) Investigator: Will you talk to me? Are you trapped here? What happened to you?

(11:32:49) Ovilus III: Dark.

(11:32:51) Investigator: Dark. Is it dark where you are? Can you tell me who you are?

(11:33:29) Ovilus III: Heavy.

(11:33:32) Investigator: Can you tell me what happened to you? Did you fire the gun, or were you shot?

(11:34:36) Ovilus III: Mistake.

(11:34:39) Investigator: What was a mistake? Did you make a mistake?

(11:35:43) Ovilus III: Argue.

(11:35:47) Investigator: What were you arguing about?

(11:37:54) Ovilus III: Struggle.

(11:37: 56) Investigator: Did you fight over the gun?

(11:39:22) Ovilus III: Trigger.

(11:39:25) Investigator: One of you pulled the trigger. Was it you? Did you shoot him?

(11:39:54) Ovilus III: Accident.

(11:40:01) Investigator: You shot him by accident?

(11:41:16) Ovilus III: Mistake.

(11:41:19) Investigator: Why did–

(11:41:20) Ovilus III: Mistake.

(11:41:21) Ovilus III: Mistake.

(11:41:22) Ovilus III: Mistake.

(11:41:23) Ovilus III: Mistake.

(11:41:24) Ovilus III: Mistake.

(11:41:37) Ovilus III: Dark.

[ At 11:41:38 the Ovilus III ceased functioning despite a full battery charge prior to the start of the investigation. No other readings were recorded, nor did investigators experience any other activity. ]


[ The Girlfriend and I love watching Ghost Adventures on the Travel Channel because it’s an awful, ridiculous show. One of the devices they use is an Ovilus, which theoretically allows spirits to display single words on its screen via an extensive digital dictionary. Theoretically. ]