Still...

I've been going through a minor crisis. I'm always happiest when life is a whirlwind, but it hasn't been lately. There's been a lot of stillness -- something I never sit with comfortably. Perhaps it's the breath before the storm. There's been so much change and heartache this year. So many people are scared. So many people are hurting and with this vast underbelly of misogyny and racism that has reared its ugly head in this country it's hard not to despair -- but despair we must not. This isn't my favorite time of year, either. Winter is not so harsh in LA, but Christmas leaves me cold none-the-less. I don't think I ever liked Christmas. I remember my neighbors rapturously telling me about the angels flying around their tree when I was a child. I peered endlessly at our tree for a couple of years before I realized said neighbors were religious fanatics and technically insane. I think my favorite Christmas was in fourth or fifth grade when my mother bought me cassettes of Ozzy Osbourne's Diary of a Madman and Devo's Freedom of Choice -- which, in retrospect, explains a lot about my life.

Things I've been doing in the interim...
Writing on the new book. After a cracking first few chapters it's been slow going. Mainly that's because I keep getting lost in the research and am making new connections all the time so the outline keeps changing. I have promised myself this time I will use an outline and stick to it -- it'll never happen.

Lilith by Leigh McCloskey

An old friend of mine from the Languedoc, Anaiya Sophia was in Malibu so I went to visit her at Leigh McCloskey's house, Olandar. Leigh was in two of my favorite movies, Inferno, and The Bermuda Depths. Wandering through his painted 3-D environment, Hieroglyph of the Human Soul, it was all I could do not to ask him about working with Dario (not the right crowd). Was a thoroughly enjoyable evening (Anaiya talked about the dark side of the feminine which reminded me of many conversations we had sitting in the sunshine in the garden of Yobaba Lounge in Chalabre, France -- making me miss my home something fierce) and Leigh'a paintings, especially the one of Lilith, intrigued me to no end. I was also in serious awe of his library and could have spent days there perusing through the titles. You can learn more about Hieroglyph of the Human Soul here.

Speaking of which, I've also been doing a lot of reading. My favorites so far: The Initiatory Path in Fairy Tales: the Alchemical Secrets of Mother Goose. Obviously, I was not the only one haunted by the line in Fulcanelli's Dwellings of the Philosophers, "The Tales of Mother Goose (mother law, primary law) are hermetical narratives where esoteric truths mingle with the marvelous and legendary setting of the Saturnalia, of Paradise, and of the Golden Age." Evidently, Bernard Roger, the author was as well. He was also one of the last disciples of Fulcanelli's adept, Eugene Canseliet which makes me beyond curious to his research. I just finished Normal by Warren Ellis, and had the pleasure of hearing him read from it the other night. It's a far cry from the folklore and history I'm normally steeped in, but I'm terrified by the notion the science of machines may be an unhealthy magic in the exploitation of nature -- namely electronic genius loci. I won't say more because you should read it yourself, although I was musing with a friend the other night that part of my current state of mind may spring from occulted abyss gaze. I've been pulling on the threads of the past, and slogging through dense treatises for so long that I'm only barely in the present, only now do I own a cell phone and know how to download an app. Perhaps I'll be sent to Abnormal. Perhaps I already have and that's what LA really is. What else? I thoroughly enjoyed Strange Revelations: Magic, Poison and Sacrilege in Louis IVX's France by Lynn Wood Mollenauer. I have to say some of the chapters were beyond horrific. As the mother of the Mother of Toads who killed everyone in the film (yes, technically Clark Ashton Smith is her creator, but I gave her some modern day nefarious nuance) there were a couple of times I actually set this book down. Still, if you have the stomach for it, it's a fascinating read.

I also have another article in the latest issue of The Heretic Magazine. On the Trail of the Tetramorph - "In an attempt to bring order and meaning into the structure of their daily existence, the first wise Persian astrologers appointed four royal stars in the sky, otherwise known as the watchers, who stood over the universality of divine dominion." The Heretic Magazine contains a choice selection of feature articles written by cross-disciplinary experts in the fields of Alternative History, Lost Civilizations and Technologies, Mysteries and Conundrums, Religion, the Occult, Politics, Science and more. If you're at all curious -- follow the link -- The Heretic Magazine Issue 11. Much thanks to Editor, Andrew Gough, and to Mark Foster, Creative Director, for having me onboard.


There are two projects in the works that I am beyond excited about but cannot say anything about them right now. I shouldn't even say that, but I can't help myself. As for Desired Pyrotechnics... it's taking longer than expected. Fingers crossed it will be out by the beginning of the year. I do not doubt knowing the way my life goes that everything will come crashing in at once and I'll be throwing my hands in the air screaming, "What the fuck!"
I sure hope so...

Until then I'll be holed up at Lux in Tenebris HQ, grumbling about the holidays, and spiking the eggnog.

Much love from where the worlds touch,
S- xx

ps - I cut my hair. It was beyond time for a change and secret agent suits my mood.

The Tides are Turning...

Finally, a quiet moment while waiting for the hunter's moon to arrive...

Something I came across earlier from this years journal - June 21st.

"Is the death of magic the saddest death of all? Watching the magic leave the land and fade like the half-remembered sunset? Nothing sustains -- all is cyclical -- the ebb and flow to which we cling. The donkey’s bray and claim it’s not true. The believers all point their crooked fingers, but they know it’s true in their heart of hearts... the magic has left the land. Maybe some day in the hazy future it will reappear again, but for now it’s enough to know it once existed, and to move forward in the world."

Does anyone even read blogs anymore? I have to wonder. I admit, I've been lazy about keeping this up. After pushing out two books in rapid succession (one released and one not yet released) I've wanted to do anything other than produce more verbiage. Even though work on the next book is stalling, I'm not worried about it. There's projects galore on the table and I couldn't be more thrilled even if I can't talk about them at this moment in time. And I'm extremely grateful because after a huge amount of hard work, I've caught a couple of lucky breaks.

Currently, I'm holed up at a friend's house way up in the canyon. Some place out of time where the coyotes sing at night, and the oak trees dance under the light of another super moon. I always need a break from the city to recharge. Especially with all the election trauma. I've watched the debates, but they've left me feeling like I've poked the rotting underbelly of some gangrenous animal in its death throes. I try not to turn my head away, but what's the lesson to be learned? He who dies with the most toys wins? I know from experience you cannot teach an entitled monster the error of their ways because they simply do not care. In fact, they love their soul-crushing ways. They love to inflict pain and destroy things because it makes them feel powerful. Well, that, and getting people to get onboard with their despicable behavior. I'm kind of surprised that anyone is shocked Trump has acted in such a blatantly misogynistic way and brushes it off as 'locker room talk'. Just like I'm surprised the word 'pussy' has the American public up in arms, especially after all the horrible racist comments that have been spewed forth. After the last loathsome debate, the pizza delivery man told me he thought Trump had handled himself really well -- much better than the time before. As I gaped at him, not quite believing my ears, I asked him what he saw in Trump. He told me Trump was for 'guys like him'. Then, he laughed and said I was like his daughter and she hates Trump, but she was smart, and that's why he sent her to college. I still can't wrap my head around his statement because it has nothing to do with qualification, or the bigger picture in general, but has to do with some weird, self-loathing, underdog identification, that has nothing to do with ones, and the nations, general safety and welfare. I'm not trying to man-bash here. The pizza guy was the first person I've come across who actually had a kind word about Trump, except some adamant, pro-lifer, who I blocked on FB, which shows how insular my world is. I totally get identifying with the underdog who is shaking up the system. There's a rebellious punk rock teenager raising a middle finger trapped within my adult body, but Trump isn't 'like him', and isn't for 'guys like him'. Trump's never been 'like him', and in all honesty, probably doesn't know anyone 'like him'. That's the disconnect, as well as the obvious. And it makes my skin crawl that possibly he meant 'guys like him' as in misogynistic creeps. I'm fairly certain that's not what he meant. At least I hope not because that would be an even uglier can of worms and a more dire state of affairs.

As for the Patreon thing I wrote about in the last blog... My apologies, but it's not gonna happen. I'm taking the page down. My everlasting thanks to those who expressed an interest in it, but I don't have the time as the winds have shifted and fortune is blowing in a new creative direction -- one I've come to realize I've wanted for a very long time -- so I'm going for it. My hats off to those creators who make those kind of platforms work for them, and I'm in love with the idea of artists supporting artists, but for now, I'm going to step down, and instead, support the friends I have on there and applaud from the sidelines.

There isn't much more to tell because I've been diligently crossing my t's and dotting my i's, and making certain all of my bases are covered. It's not glamorous, but it is necessary so I don't repeat some of my mistakes from the past. I don't mind making mistakes as long as I learn from them.

So in the meantime, be true to yourself and fuck the naysayers and bullies at large. Make the world a bigger and brighter place, and not smaller and meaner. Be kind to yourself and to those around you. I don't know what else -- don't be an asshole? That kind of goes without saying...

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S - xx

Beauty in Ruin

I've only got an hour but I wanted to share a couple things.

This is what happens when I am left to my own devices for periods of time. I've been house-sitting for a friend who had a family emergency. In the midst of my quiet time in the canyon, all hell broke loose. Fires raging from all sides, no sleep, high alert, ash raining down like snowflakes, the skies turning dark at midday -- it was all quite biblical. I couldn't leave, so I hunkered down with the animals and tested new electronic things to amuse myself. First, I taught myself to record and edit audio -- the digital way -- the 21st century way. I've needed to do this for quite some time. The last time I learned to record and edit audio was in the early nineties at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where I have hazy memories of being deep within the under recesses of the school, plugging cables into sockets and unwrapping and rewrapping miles of wires (last year an old friend told me he was the one who set up the miasma of audio equipment down there and we laughed while reminiscing how one could get stuck in those endless, winding, corridors editing for days, like troglodytes never seeing the sun, passing out in the hallways, and watching the cockroaches climb out of the vending machine one just bought coffee from. Chicago has its own brand of humor). Anyhow, I put together my first spoken work piece for Sisters of the Wasteland. This will not be the project's final form, nor am I about to start writing poetry, or doing spoken word for that matter, but it's a test. I will be doing a lot more audio like I used to do, but I suspect it will end up more as lyrics and songs. Also, I love to mix found sounds. Always have. I tend to listen to the world in an odd way. Ask anyone's who's ever been in the car with me as we go under a freeway underpass and motorcycles race overhead, and I'm transfixed by the distorted echo, wishing out loud they would do it again. Beauty in ruin. Generally, that's about the time someone asks me if I'm tripping balls with a worried expression on their face, but I digress.

Here's the link if you want to give it a listen:

https://soundcloud.com/scarlett-amaris/sisters-of-the-wasteland-audio

I also did some test shots for the upcoming series, Lux in Tenenbris, on the seriously mysterious goings on in fin de siecle Paris, which will make it's debut in the middle of August on Patreon (yes, it was originally scheduled for the beginning of August, but I missed the first window of filming thanks to the unscheduled arrival of the hellacious Sand Fire). These are actually the wrong contacts. I could have sent them back, but once I opened them -- I had to give them a go. I know they're a little much -- but still..............

Before I run, I wanted to share this as well as the 'so-called real world' is swimming in the zeitgeist and we step closer toward the black iron prison every day (of course, one could argue we're already there. I might agree.) It's a short film by my friend, director and writer, Eric Shapiro, called HOAX, which you can watch for free on Amazon - just press HERE

The hour has struck. Time for me to go.

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S - xx

p.s. Here's the link to the Patreon page where the new series will be happening - Lux in Tenebris

Patreon Alert...!

So I've finally done it -- I've taken the plunge and joined the Patreon platform. Let's see how well I do because I've never been that savvy at social media and yet, I keep on trying. Of course, me being me, I pushed the publish button about a month ago before I was anywhere near ready -- kinda the story of my life. So I've been busy working on the next book. The outline is finished, but modern-day Paris doesn't want to geographically correlate the way I want it to -- dammit -- why can't the topography just obey my whims and reshape itself accordingly? After writing two books last year it feels kind of like ripping the flesh off my tongue with a Popsicle stick starting another one. I probably shouldn't say things like that but it's true. None of the characters have their own voice or style yet, and they certainly aren't talking to me, nor to each other -- they're only vague, shadowy outlines, grumbling quietly in the outer recesses of my imagination. I always dread beginnings. It's ridiculous because every story must have one. I'm much happier polishing existing material, or creating bombastic dark fantasy sequences. Now that I've furtively collected the necessary technology and learned to apply it (hence why I've been absent on the social sites lately -- I've been busy learning new things so I can further my preternatural agenda) I'm going to share some of the esoteric research permeating the new book in a web series called Lux in Tenebris on my Patreon page starting the middle of August. It'll consist of some of the more curious esoteric gossip abounding in fin-de-siecle Paris and other inherent mysteries. The first episode, entitled 'Cursed Again!', will feature warring necromancers and authors using black magic and such -- and maybe a little mind-crunching alchemy. Okay, they'll be a lot of mind-crunching alchemy, but not to start with -- even I'm not ready to head down that rabbit hole yet. But I hope you will join me there. Like always, I'm approachable and open to suggestions, but keep it to the La Belle Epoque if you can -- think Fulcanelli and company and we'll be in business.

Here's the link!



 THANK YOU!
       

And the new Lux in Tenebris merchandise is in! You can find more about it HERE!

I'll still be posting some on this site, but I will be spending more and more time over on Patreon with the new series. Come join me for this new adventure -- I would love to see you there!!!

And in other news... I've got a new article out in always fascinating The Heretic Magazine called 'Gloraie to the End of the World (in the blink of an eye)' deconstructing the apocalyptic imagery in the enigmatic paintings of Juan Valdes Leal. There's a little Fulcanelli thrown in there, along with the mystery cross of Hendaye, warnings about the end of the world, Harpocrates, and the Kali Yuga. You can find out more HERE.

By fire we are born anew...

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S -xx

p.s. I decided to stay in LA for the summer. Obviously, I am not regretting that choice one little bit...

Un rêve dans un rêve...

Nicola Samori, School of Pan, 2011

Often when I wake out of dreams the first thing I do is write down the fragments floating around in my head. The problem is if I don't do so sometimes the dream scenarios become trapped and refuse to make way for what I need to be thinking about and working on. There's about twenty or so ragged and dog-eared notebooks full of these which I revisit from time to time. I thought maybe I would start sharing some of them here because sometimes these scenarios blossom into bigger things. There's stacks of them in the third Saurimonde book where I took written pieces of my actual nightmares, rearranged the elements of six or seven separate instances into one semi-cohesive supernatural nightmare sequence, then I added in the mythology and remixed them again (sort of a mild version of the cut-up technique). I think maybe that's why when they work, they have resonance.

So here's the fragment from this morning. I find the idea being trapped or lost within the cycles of incarnation is a theme which often permeates my subconscious.

"The room was lit by the muted television set and a haze of bluish smoke hovered in the air from the cigarette they shared between them. She didn't think she had ever stared into someones eyes and seen herself so clearly before. The feeling frightened her because it spoke of other times and places where they had known each other. Stroking the plane from his eyebrow to cheekbone with her fingertips, she chose her words with care. “I know you.”

“So you are beginning to remember...?”

Burying her her head into the nape of his neck, she whispered against his skin, “You are not the only accidental guest on this darkened planet -- I was never meant to be here either.”

Will it go into the next book? Maybe. Speaking of the next book, I've got the outline down and it will center around the enigmatic north porch of Notre Dame de Paris, the Belle Epoch alchemists, signs, portents, and chance encounters -- some of my favorite pet obsessions. Most likely it will be a supernatural thriller which I am kind of excited about writing. I feel the need to re-root myself back into the twenty-first century for a while, and put the puzzle pieces together in a different configuration. It might not work. One never knows. I loved the outline and the ideas behind Demon Priest, and it had a cracking opening, but three chapters in I realized I had made a fatal error -- I'm not a strong enough writer to narrate a whole book from a male perspective. At least not that kind of book. But that is how you learn, and possibly I'll use that first chapter for something else one day, or figure how to come at that story from another point of view when the time is right.

Here's the prologue from Demon Priest: (another snippet of a dream).

"There was that noise again. The throbbing of drums echoed across the valley punctuated by faraway screams. Stirring, she opened her eyes to see the bright spots of firelight glowing like fireflies in the distance. Smiling to herself, she shifted on the ground near the mouth of the shallow cave. Let them celebrate me, she mused. Let them have this night to shout and dance and to make love under the stars. Soon they would be no more, like the others who came before them. She was tired now -- so very tired. The time was near when she would retreat into the cool earth where she would slumber and dream in endless darkness. No one would find her there. She knew these lands like no other and indeed, she had been here before the mountains had been formed, when there was only a vast, endless ocean. Then, the tectonic plates crashed together and what was molten soon cooled as slow moving glaciers formed the first valleys. Like herself, the terrain changed and was born anew, only to become old again. The humans called out to her, shouting her name while waving their cups in the air. A giant effigy burned sending sparks flying out into the night sky as the smaller bonfires were extinguished. I will return, she promised as the weariness took hold of her again. I always do. These humans mean little more to me than insects now. Sighing one last time against the dirt, she murmured, But first, please grant me oblivion..."

There's not a huge amount of news to be had. Currently, I'm finishing up a project I should have completed ages ago. It's tricky and complicated and doesn't want to follow any known set of screenwriting rules -- but it is a challenge -- and I do love a challenge. I only have a certain amount of time out here to get it completed so it's been occupying most of my waking attention.

The sun is rising, the desert is stretching its sun-kissed skin, there's coffee brewing in the kitchen, and I need to get down to writing for the day...

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S - xx

Casu, Consensus, Studiis Magicis....

I keep pondering the so-called real world with one eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smile passing my lips. Spent the last few weeks hunkered down in the desert, finishing up the fourth rewrite of Desired Pyrotechnics ( it's done). In everything I design, in all the the characters I construct, there are bits and pieces of friends, lovers, and those who catch my eye, and I'm always mentally squirreling away other people's idiosyncrasies. Anyhow, the day after I finished the rewrite three very strange things occurred all within the space of about four hours. The first was a video interview on social media with a friend of mine whom I based a minor character on and he said something which he says in the book, even though its nothing we've ever discussed in real life, and I made that dialogue up. The second incident was from a random moment in the book when the lead character digs through a closet in the guest room and comes up with a pink robe, remarking, ' pretty, but not on me'. While drinking my morning coffee on the patio, enjoying the sunshine, a friend of mine staying in the guest room came out in a pink robe, explaining she bought it compulsively the night before, but she wasn't certain about it. Her exact words were 'it's very pretty, but not on me'.  I laughed. A couple of hours later while was driving around with another friend who happened to be in town he repeated something I gave another minor character that I loosely based off of him. He said it sarcastically -- exactly the way I had written it, even though I don't recall him ever using the phrase before -- and it was something I tossed in at the last minute. It's weird. Then there's the whole praying mantis thing... but I'm not getting into that because it's too fucking weird - like somehow fiction bleeds into reality and vice versa kind of weird. Sometimes I wonder about these things. Can you conjure situations by an act of creative will? Lucky for me, this rather brutal story actually has a happy ending because a lot of scripts and stories I've written before don't. In fact, I don't think any of them do. So maybe it's sympathetic magic in action. It's a possibility. I don't believe it to be coincidence -- that's why I say one eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smile passing my lips.

So onto news...

We've finally gotten the brand spanking new Saurimonde III merchandise at the Eden Darkly store -- t-shirts, stickers, coffee mugs (want one!), tote bags, and a bunch of other things. Follow the link to find out more!!!

Saurimonde Super Store

And in other news...

I finally got my ass back into LA and made it into the BTS studio for our seventeenth gonzo podcast. These crazy fucking things are never scripted, but they are so much fun to do -- and are proving to be surprisingly popular. Who knew?

Our seventeenth episode takes a turn for the dark side fast with: a pecker puffer, an Easter special with Lucifer's testicles, a new book from our fave author Mandy De Sandra, and Victorian doctors who thought reading made women insane and depraved.

Finale

The next month is going to be a game-changer. Keep watching this space because some very radical developments are in the works. After pulling magic rabbits successfully out of paper bags for the last many years, I'm about to get very dangerous, and I am so ready to step up...

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S-xx

Selva Oscura - Absolution is Not an Option...

. 

Hey there friends! Shall we take the sweet with the bitter? I'm rather a fan of the savoury myself...

First up, new, sweet business -- we have a brand spanking new giveaway going on over at Goodreads! We're giving away four print copies of our latest dark fantasy offering, Saurimonde III. All you have to do is follow the link below for your chance to win!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Saurimonde III

by Melissa St. Hilaire

Giveaway ends May 06, 2016.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

And now onto old, sort of bitter business -- I found this journal entry quite by accident earlier after clicking on the wrong icon. I think it was from the end of summer 2012? When I'd started on the first Saurimonde novel -- a different time and a different place, but it is evocative, and took me quite by surprise.

2012, Montsegur, France - Summer:

Selva Oscura,

There is a character, a succubus, crafting herself out of darkness and chaos, and I have a feeling she's going to reek havoc on my new story. I don't whether I'm birthing her into existence, or whether she is being rebirthed. Sometimes it feels like she's using me as a conduit and has been waiting for the opportune moment to do so. 

Partial character study -- the words are from a fragment of a dream.

"I'll never forgive you and there's a part of me that will always hate you. The feeling is irrational and rears its ugly head at a moment's notice. I have to keep remembering -- this is not my fault -- I did not cause this situation -- you did. Absolution is not an option. It may hurt me more, but I'll never be there in my soul, not even if I mouth the words of your proverbial redemption. Time should heal these things and I no longer dwell on them like I once did -- you no longer haunt my waking thoughts. When reminded of the past it's more like the sudden pain of being touched with the lit end of a cigarette. I lash out at the world -- of course, that's putting it mildly, when what I really want is to rip down the fabric of creation itself. The irrational rises inside like a darkened whirlwind, an abyss without stars, like utter blackness -- and it builds like the pregnant sky before a southern storm. I cannot control this -- there are no reins, no brakes, no known forms of control, as it spills forth. Do you hear my voice howling in the winds? Don't you not recognize what shimmers in the shadows? There is power there. You hang your head, cowering in shame, but if you only stood still, and raised a hand to the west, you would realize this is a gift. Go, dive deeper into the water. Hold your breath longer than you ever thought possible. Far past the murkiness and into the deep, deep, depths. Why do you deny yourself these things? She is always there waiting for you, shining in her cloak of immaculate darkness. No more celebrated now than the distant memory of a dull glint on a rusted blade."

And that's where it stops...

It's scary. It's violent. I'm well aware of where my head was at the time. I know the circumstances -- but it is raw and honest. I love these fragments of dreams, and I love having forgotten them only to stumble across them at a later date. Besides the first Saurimonde novel there's the germ on Sisters of the Wasteland in there as well. I miss the ancient spirits of the olde country and maybe they miss me too. But the time to return is not yet, although it will be soon. I bide my time as I rebuild an empire.

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S - xx

SAURIMONDE III -- C'est Fini!

What a month it's been so far! I'm sitting here in Los Angeles, basking in the hot February sunshine. It's such a blessing after so many winters in the freezing cold of the Pyrenees, and as much as I may miss my home, I will never miss the cold.

So first --  the very good news -- Saurimonde III is finished! It's currently available on Amazon Kindle (the physical copy will be out next week) and it's the first book launched on our newly formed Lux in Tenebris Publishing label. There will be lots more about that development in the near future -- so keep an eye on this space!

Saurimonde III:

 Safety is but an illusion...

In the search for a young woman who may already be dead, the tragically lovely Saurimonde, along with her handsome consort, Sordel, travel deep within the mysterious zone where she comes under the spell of the powerful cult leader, Na Dag'ma, who, after initating her into their strange faith, sends her on a quest to find a dangerous ancient relic.

Amid a quagmire of lies, dulplicity, and collusion the veil between worlds becomes threadbare – one existence bleeding into another – as Saurimonde and Sordel wander further into a supernatural web. Upon finding what they seek, will they be able to break free? Or be forced to become the ultimate sacrifice?

It's available here: Saurimonde III Amazon Kindle

*************

Even though it's been an age (not really, it only feels that way) since I've been sequestered in the back beyond, Melissa and I managed to record a new podcast at the BTS studios as soon as I hit the ground yesterday.

In our sixteenth episode we try to get back into the swing of things after our month long break with: a show dedicated to wine lovers, like how red wine is great for sex, as well as another book by Mandy De Sandra, Fox News Fuckfest, for all your bizzaro political erotica needs! (And, yes, we forgot to turn off the A/C at the BTS studios again, damn it!).

*************

Tomorrow, we'll be filming for our brand new super secret project that I am so excited about! Maybe I'm finally starting to travel out of the crossroads. I say this with cautious optimism because I've thought the same thing a couple of times over this last rather surreal and harsh year only to be knocked back to square one and told to wait. Still, all I can do is follow the signs wherever they may lead...

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S - xx

Just a quickie... that ended up not a quickie...

January 10th.

Drowning not waving through  the holidays...

Hey! Am finally checking in. Have had my fair share of unfortunate luck which means I was offline on top of having some version of the dreaded lurgy which lingered and lingered like a most unwelcome guest while I waited for my laptop to be fixed. Things have stabilized and we're in the midst of the very last contraction on SAURIMONDE III. Some days it's felt like I've been pushing a very large boulder up an extremely steep hill, but I'm happy with the material, and it's really fucking bonkers while still retaining a large amount of esoteric wyrdness within all the sex, death and scenes of madness. Plus, we've finally gotten a chance to expand the mythology within the Saurimonde universe. If all goes to plan then it should be released at the beginning of February. Fingers crossed though, because the one thing I've come to learn is the closer you come to finishing a major project the more the real world will conspire to make it very fucking hard for you to do so. I've also decided after we finish SAURIMONDE III that I will go in and give DESIRED PYROTECHNICS one more rewrite. One final brush of the hair. One more coat of gloss. Everything can always be made prettier and tighter. After working on it so intensely I knew I needed to give the last draft some distance. Like with painting, or even cooking, sometimes you have to step back and let things stew on their own for a while before adding the next element or ingredient. But it will be worth the wait -- it always is.

Quite by chance a couple of weeks ago I found out that THE OTHERWORLD (L'AUTRE MONDE) (2013) a documentary that I had the pleasure to co-wrote and appear in is streaming on Netflix. It features cinematography by Karim Hussain, and a score by Simon Boswell, and touches upon some of the more supernatural mysteries in the South of  France. I'm absolutely chuffed and slightly flabbergasted that such a strange and psychedelic film would be on there. So for those of you who have been asking you can watch it there anytime you wish.

************

And at the tail end of having the dreaded lurgy, Melissa and I managed to get in another podcast. Admittedly, I'm a little scratchy and not really on my game at all, but it's still kind of fun even if it is the most PG version we've ever done. At that it's NSFW. You have been warned.

In our fifteenth episode we suffer through the holidays with: glitter beards and armpit hair, a naked artist in a glass box who masturbates, dinosaur erotica by Christie Sims, Ted Cruz holiday erotica, and remembering Lemmy.

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Fucking Angus Scrimm died today. First Holly, then Lemmy, and now Angus. I hope someone at Morningside Cemetary lights a candle for him. So strange and awful to have so many of one's formative influences and teenage heroes die at the same time. It's enough to make one feel old. The world will never see people like these again. They broke the mold with each and every one and in today's cookie cutter, prefab world it's a testament to what once was.

January 11th

Then the world stopped this morning. Bowie is gone. I'm sitting here blasting The Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars album. One of my earliest childhood memories is sitting in the back seat of my father's dark blue '67 Chevy Mustang and Lady Stardust is blaring from the car speakers. It's near twilight. Neon signs light up the distance. There's a cool wind blowing on my face and all the secret scents of the desert are blooming near nightfall. Bowie's voice breaks my heart and I'm crying for a Lady Stardust I never knew (only finding out later the song was written about Marc Bolan). It's a potent memory for me because it was the moment I realized music could make you feel things you couldn't put words to -- it could come and wrap itself around your soul -- it could find those secret spaces which ached inside of you so fiercely you thought no one else could ever understand. But in reading through my feed this morning that is what struck me the most -- how many of us had the same encounters and how much his music helped us and gave us hope that we were not alone, no matter how damaged we were. That is art, and that is transcendence. When I was transplanted from LA to the ultra-conservative Midwest while beginning high school it was Bowie who played on my walkman 24-7 in an attempt to blot out the ugliness surrounding me. Dropped into a world that loathed anyone who was different from themselves, sometimes it was only his music that saw me through being beaten up by jocks and cruelly harassed by preppies and cheerleaders alike. I had no friends. Music and that goddamned walkman were my only friends. How do you thank someone for such a thing? Do they even know on some level that whatever they are creating is helping some alienated and disenfranchised kid make it through another horrible day? For us overly creative weirdo types he was our role model; part of our yet-to-be-realized tribe, and his music was the touchstone that better days were to come. Art, hope, imagination and reimagination; Bowie was the magician when it came to these things. That is what us freaks, rubbing the starlight into our eyes, loved about him. He was our fucking hero and there will never be another like him. Thank you for being the blackstar, Sir David, in our fragile souls.

So much for this being a quickie... but before it gets any longer I have to get onto conjuring for the day.

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S - xx

P.S. 

January 12th.

A bright spot in the darkest of weeks. I saw this note on FB from Andy Paciorek of WYRD HARVEST PRESS the other day which cheered me up immensely.

"I received a nice note today from Chesire Wildlife Trusts thanking us for the donation raised by the sales of the FOLK HORROR REVIVAL: FIELD STUDIES book. Thought you might like to see one of the actual owls that the donation would benefit. Checking a nest at one of there reserves, they discovered four barn owl chicks, one of whom is pictured here. 

photo by Jenna Sproston

So thank you again to those who worked on / and or bought copies of the book. Folk Horror Revival will continue to donate 100% of sales profits to countryside, community and enviornmental projects run by The Wildlife Trusts."

This book is available at: FOLK HORROR REVIVAL: FIELD STUDIES

Melissa St. Hilaire and I were thrilled to have contributed to this fascinating book with a section about the mythology behind our popular dark fantasy series books, SAURIMONDE. I have an enormous love and fascination of owls (and bats, wolves, and foxes) and this picture makes me smile every time I look at it. 

And... Folk Horror Revival has a new website which is more than worth your time to check out. You can find it HERE