Get Back into the Fight


And so we begin again. Careful and slow, the embers spark and the cold howls the ramshackle hovel I call me.

We begin again. With the dull swords and halberds of rust we clutch and stammer in the wendigo afternoon. Turn and face, about-step and lunge.

I remember the way. My demons have taught me well. Cruel mentors are the surest sages. Rime knows this and Jonas will learn.

Again the weight and again the City of Rain. Again the fading halls and the broken sunlight. I have built my army well, I am not just what you see. I give my words away but the doors remain shut.

Keep faith in the gatekeepers.

We begin again. I am not alone. I have miles to go. From black earth risen, I burn like the Third Moon.

Stand shoulder-wide with me and shout. This is not the day we die. Jangle skeletons and foul-diamond horde. Ogre-pain and empty wind. We stand to face you. You, and your master, the Patient Dark.

This is not the day we die.

We begin again.

black wire fever

black wire fever.

I wrote this poem years ago, trying to explain and capture a certain feeling. An intense anxiety coupled with a desire to interact, to read, to flip between channels, web pages, build a model, read a book, watch a movie – flipping between different apps on my phone over and over. Just punching wires into sockets trying to suck up enough juice to lay quiet, to lay still.

It’s clearly rooted in anxiety, mis-directed psychic energy. It can be turned to

Artist Unknown
Artist Unknown

nothing productive, nothing useful, nothing creative.  Just more and more black wires leading to empty pages , burning through the html of the universe.

I’ve been feeling it a lot lately.

I wouldn’t call it a hell, but it’s definitely one of the tunnels that lead there.