Friends, this story is fantastic, fascinating, exciting, and moving. Great reviews are already rolling in. I believe in this one as strongly as any short story I've ever written.
It's titled The Archon Hunter:
The inner voices that torment you don't come from inside your head. They are the Archons--demonic beings that live off the despair and pain that their tormenting whispers cause in your heart, mind, and soul.
Jakob Rezek has dedicated his life to destroying the Archons. His path is a lonely one, but he bears it without complaint. He will not rest until every human being is free of the Archons' manipulation.
He is the Archon Hunter.
This is only the beginning. There's a whole series of books coming behind it. But I think this is a great start.
You should check it out, for reals. Check it out HERE (click the HERE!).
Moby Dick is a work of genius that is denigrated far too readily in these dull, materialistic times.
If you're of that certain tribe of people who yearns by nature for something deeper in yourself and in life, then you'll be hard pressed to find a better traveling companion than Moby Dick.
Some of the chapters, in particular, have left people flummoxed. Namely, the discussions on cetology and the shapes of whale heads.
The thing is, once you understand the book, you understand those chapters for what they are, and then you can see their brilliance.
I talked about this topic on a recent video post. Check it out:
I like people that don’t fit neatly into any tribe.
Even more than that, I like people that don’t fit into any tribe at all. So it was that I found myself interested in the work of one Fullmetal Magdalene: crypto anarchist, gnostic seeker, free thinker, and artist.
My interview with Fullmetal proved every more interesting than I could have hoped for:
My name is Magnus Cray. I suspect that this diary will prove to be my final testament. They’re closing in on me. I can feel it.
Right now, the entire civilized world is locked down, ostensibly due to a viral pandemic. The truth, however, is far more horrific than anything the news is saying or anything that the people fear.
I tried to fight it. I’ll continue fighting it. Failure, however, is a foregone conclusion. So be it. I knew the price I’d pay for my resistance. I have no regrets.
But fear is a thing of the flesh. It’s in the nerves. Even if I have mentally and spiritually accepted my fate, my base animal brain has not. So it is that I tremble as I write these words.
The sun is rising. My balcony is empty now of the thing I heard out there last night, stalking me.
But with the setting sun, it will come again.
Know that I tried, even if my efforts were in vain. I tried to wake you all up to what was coming.
Part of me resents you all for remaining so blind, but the larger part of me feels only sympathy. It wasn’t your weakness that led us here. No, it was the strength of the machine.
What’s done is done now, anyway. Things could never have turned out any way other than the way in which they have.
In the end, I’m just a man.
I’ve gotten a longer peek behind the Curtain than most people. I’ve even pulled the strings of the world in my day. I’ve known pleasures and depravities (is there a difference?) that few other than kings have known. I stood alone against the Leviathan and, for the time being, anyway, lived to tell about it.
Yet, for all that, I’m just a man.
So be it. Let me be just a man telling his story in the shadow of Leviathan.
Same as all of you.
The Little Si Trail is a great, underrated trail in western Washington.
I just hiked it three days ago and had a great experience. I wrote about it on travel site: Northwest Nomad.
I didn't meet the Foot, unfortunately, but I DID get a fantastic hamburger.
The story is over at my travel site, Northwest Nomad. You can read it here (click the 'here' ;)).
I don't normally publish this kind of material, but this new system has worked so well for me that I can't help it. This is simple but immensely stuff, not only for staying in shape but also for boosting productivity:
The Stoner Boys got stoned in Stoner Woods, and that was all that anybody figured they would ever do — including the Stoner Boys.
Missy Churmblo would become a psychologist, Joe Maglietti would take over his father’s construction business, and the Stoner Boys would smoke dope in Stoner Woods. Maybe they’d get some poor girl knocked up, work menial jobs, and do a little jail time, just like all the other white trash kids from the Sunset Trailer Park. Not much else was likely to come of them, though.
No, the truth wasn’t pretty, but it was the natural progression of existence. Complaining about that fact was like gazelle complaining about lions: pointless.
At least, that was how people saw things before the Sunset Matinee.
For however long I have left to live, I will tell my story, which is the story of what really lurks below Tacoma, Washington.
If these blogs stop and I go dark, tell them I went down fighting. Tell them I tried.
I love you all. May God save us.
A single star rises and pierces the darkness. Spider webs cocooning the great forest dissipate like smoke under the touch of the star’s illumination.
With the light comes a rider, bold and proud in his saddle, one hand holding a battle-worn stave, the other outstretched, palm open and turned up, a battered steel circlet around his head. The star rises in union with his nearing the forest, like a balloon tethered to his back by a very long string.
In the city in the forest, people pour out from their houses cheering, squinting in the light after 57 years of darkness.