UNBOUND is set in the weeks surrounding Easter, and as such I thought that this excerpt might prove timely for those who appreciate the story of Jesus, whether as a religious, political, or historical figure, or just a benevolent but tortured individual. Especially so on this Good Friday. What I believe only matters to me, but I would rather the Reader make their own decisions about not only this event but about the greater (and lesser) implications without any “outside” influences. Â Like mine. Or dogma from a “church”. This is just a Story. We will take you there, to where you can Choose…
A brief explanation about this Post: I prepared it as a new Page which’ll be permanently linked at the (near-invisible) top left drop-down menu. Unfortunately I’m having permission issues that won’t allow me to post new Pages; something happened with the database when transferring servers. My considerate webmistress is looking into it, and I’m so thankful for her help  But in case that fix doesn’t work out I thought I’d try this as a new Post which I can put up. But it is a seven-page excerpt from the novel and so rather lengthy for a Post (even mine). AND THEN I FOUND THE “MORE” TAB :-O
Anyway, we’ll give this a shot. You may want a few by the time you finish reading it (And please forgive any formatting errors; I’m hurrying this out!)
A little warning, of sorts: this excerpt is atypical of the novel, and is used as an expository flashback device that is essential to understanding one of UNBOUND’s secondary characters, Ahasuerus. He’s someone you’ve likely heard of, though not likely by that name. Let’s go back in time with him, or without him, to that fateful Good Friday afternoon…
[SETUP/SCENE: Sitting on a bench in San Francisco’s Washington Square, two curious characters perch for a moment to discuss and address certain current events occurring in the Story, prompting one of them to re-live a memory that he will never forget. This is his very personal flashback excerpted from the middle of their discussion. His name is Ahasuerus, and he is quite damned...]
 an excerpt from UNBOUND’s Book One: “Earth”Â
Part Two: “Bound”; Chapter 2.5: Alastor
He has heard the crowd growing all morning. Having closed his shoe-making business for the day, he now gathers several loaves of flat bread and flasks of water to bring outside to sell to the spectators. Satisfied with the quality of his wife’s preparations, he exits their dwelling and enters the sultriness of this particular Friday’s reluctant sun. It smolders down on Jerusalem, peeking through a gathering of huge, slow-moving black clouds. The firmament is a dark slate blue, and cold looking despite the heat.
From the nearby bazaar, the din and the smells comfort him with their attendant memories of his youth. Just as then, his senses are overwhelmed with pleasure at the diverse fragrances wafting through today’s noisy throng, spreading the promise of this market’s bounty: cooked lamb and fish, olives and dates, sweet pastries and fresh produce. All of these scents mingle with the baser odors of the countless unwashed bodies and the sweat and dust they generate. To Ahasuerus, this is life, all of it.
The familiar, insistent voices of dozens of merchants hawk their wines and apples, scented oils and incense, and spices from beyond Jericho. These sounds and aromas come to him as if a perfumed song. This is the last pleasant moment that this man will know.
Situated right on the road between the Judgment Hall and the place of execution, this route oftentimes has multitudes of people lining it to watch the condemned march out of the city and on to their final fate, through the northern gate to Golgotha. But today! The narrow steep street is wall to wall with them, and they are hungry; and not so much for food, but for the one approaching…
He hears a commotion from the bottom of the street. The crowd below parts like a living sea as a slow, awkward procession approaches. Above all their heads, a large wooden cross sways from one side of the avenue to the other, as if balanced on a precarious perch. Ah, he observes, the passage of the condemned.
The heralds who precede the condemned man proclaim the list of his crimes. The merchant scowls upon hearing the charges, taking account of them: Treason, and blasphemy!The King of the Jews he says! He mulls in anger at the perceived insult, and the man’s heresy. Oh, the Son of God as well? So he did not give tribute to Caesar? Then no wonder his deserved fate. What does he expect?
The procession grows closer…
Now he can see the bloody and battered criminal beneath the tall tottering cross, struggling to balance it on his shoulder. Ahasuerus strains against the growing press of the crowd to get a better look at the prisoner surrounded by his guardsmen. So, that is my king? He doesn’t look much like one to me. Even from here, he can see that this man has sustained a terrible beating, and most likely much worse yet to come. If he were truly the Son of God, he wouldn’t let himself endure such an ordeal!
Behind the heralds, he can now make out the soldiers as they approach, their spears held upwards, leading the main procession. Romans, he thought with contempt. If this man does have a Kingdom, let them issue an army to claim him, and send the Romans back to Rome as well!
He regards the screaming, taunting crowd around him and the unit of determined armored guards, and knows that there would be no army, or anyone else, coming to rescue this naked, bleeding, and doomed man. Where are his followers, he wonders, and his family?
Closer they come…
Many in the boisterous crowd shout obscenities at the doomed man as he approaches. They surge forward even in the face of the weapons wielded by Pilate’s soldiers, yelling ugly threats and curses at him as he hobbles toward them up the hill beneath his heavy wooden burden.
The procession is nearly upon them.
Anticipation crackles like electrical energy toward Ahasuerus from down the street. He grows more agitated with the increasing furor of the rabid mob’s condemnations. Under their influence, and much of his own, the merchant makes up his mind: He’s just another criminal, just another fraud; and a sinner as the rest of us, a Son of God as we are sons…
They are almost here.
As the first grim-faced guard passes, Ahasuerus sees in his features the resolute commitment to his task. He is righteous, as are the rest; they are soldiers, on assignment. The procession follows behind; armor clatters and feet shuffle, escorting one man and his stifled, labored breathing. A whip snaps with a loud crack, startling the merchant.
The battered and bleeding prisoner bows under the weight of the huge wooden cross, as he plods up the steep street. He tries to balance it on his bare back as it trails along behind him; it thumps a hollow, wooden drumbeat as it drags along the cobbled ground. The uneven surface induces the tail of the cross to bounce at every crack and crevice, digging into the man’s shoulder, scraping it raw.
His face bleeds incessantly, dripping from a crude crown of long, wicked thorns imbedded in his scalp. His long red hair hangs lank, and falls over his shoulders in thick, gory ropes. Tears of pain etch his face in streams, mingling with his blood, falling to the earth. He is not weeping; he is in torment.
At one time, his loincloth must have been white; now, sopping and stained with his sweat and blood, mud covers it. Two soldiers follow the condemned man; they goad him on, flaying him with barbed whips. Behind these come the rear guardsmen; and then falling in behind, that surging, raucous sea of people, following like vengeful lemmings.
Ahasuerus can’t sense anything other than the all-encompassing anger and chaos that permeates this environment. This is what it brings him:
Life is funny, sometimes… you just never know what it has in store. Which is good, if you like surprises
Well before finding myself perched atop the highest mountain peak of my existence, I’d already endured trying trials of endurance, fortitude, and faith. It was the latter I’d been having trouble with. Lily too, come to think of it! Quite some time after the seeds of my novel, UNBOUND, had been sown, I’d found myself trapped in a hostile work environment and struggling to find time and energy to write the story. Not to put it over-dramatically, but the torments I stubbornly tolerated over the years threatened my health, sanity, and constantly tried to break my spirit. But I was bound and determined not to lose to the invading forces that always were battering at my Doors of Perception (pretty literally, as it turns out). The more they battered, the stronger my resolve became to wait them out; it was the principle of the thing. But would my faith in the story, and in myself, be sustainable?
It might not, I feared. And so I fought my way out, engaging The Enemy in his own court at his own game. At which I proceeded to get my ass kicked even more. My faith in my ability to outlast them wavered, although the ideas that had sprouted from the Story’s seed were taking root and growing through the impacted earth of the battlefield. These I was able to scribble down on stickees, collecting them like butterflies, and placing them in a box. But I couldn’t stop either to write or to smell the roses, as I was being constantly harrassed…
What had happened: I’d hurt my back after volunteering for a job that should have been done quicker by the proper department, but the Branch Manager wanted it done more quickly. So, I was tasked with moving a heavy desk that slipped off its transport, and when I moved to save it, wrenched my back pretty badly. (The nurse at the hospital took one look at it and exclaimed “oh my God!” when she saw how my spine looked.) You’d think that that things would go smoothly, it obviously being a Workmen’s Comp case. They did not, due to clever and malevolent machinations; management became determined to fire me or force me to quit. I resisted (to say the least), which only made things worse. Much.
So, after years of increasing incidents the number of which I will spare you, I began to get battered down. I was still able to write down ideas and sketches of my Story, but they became fewer in number as the constant battles at work went on. My back got worse, as so did their attacks. Eventually, seeing that I was not going to leave of my own accord, they piled on desk assignments, duties and responsibility, eventually giving me three desks that had formerly been handled by one person full time. And all were backlogged. I was ordered to get them caught up, with no mistakes tolerated. And if I had a problem with that, then I should know where the door was. Yeah, I did. AND, I did. So, I stayed, and fought, and worked.
You might be wondering: WHY did you stay? Well, because (a) I was doing good work and contributing to my community, (b) I was valued there, (c) I felt I was doing a small part to make this oftentimes cruel world a better, kinder place, and (d) I enjoyed being part of the Justice System, flawed as it might be. My mother, in my younger days, and alarmed at all the demonstrations and protests I took part in, and my “hippie lifestyle” (LOL), told me that “if you want to change The System, try to change it from within.” So, I thought I’d give it a try…
“They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom/for trying to change the system from within,” oh yes…
Well, I’ll tell you: The System doesn’t WANT to be changed, and will chew the shit out of anyone who tries. And so, upon discovering that, I became resolved to be a stone, and break their teeth whilst they gnashed at me. They monitored me like vultures would a ripe carcass, and picked what meat they could when they could, which was often. Soon enough, I was barely more than a skeleton’s worth, and fought not only them but my continual back pains, pneumonia, chronic bronchitis, and major depression, all brought on my their cruel tactics. I knew that it was time to change mine… but how?
One night while lying on my back on the floor, because there was nowhere else I could feel comfortable, I was in complete despair. Finally broken down, I curled into a fetal position and let the tears come; I couldn’t care anymore. I tried to ponder my options but couldn’t; there weren’t any. Trying to live in San Francisco without a good job was impossible. Things were bleak… and nothing but darkness was ahead on the road.
But then… in that particularly dark moment, ”She” came to me… that voice which I attributed to the one faithful and devoted being to have kept me company throughout these years while she teased me with snippets of a story she wanted to be written; that of my beloved Muse, who calmed me as I listened, ever grateful for her presence. And she said (more or less)… “Extricate yourself from this present situation, and then you may write our Story when you’re free. Have faith in me; keep it for your self and persevere. Do this and get it out into the World, and then all good things will come to you, and She will come as well.” (The “she” mentioned refers to That Special Person.) From that point on I worked at these goals, although it took some years to manage. Never once did I mistake this “still, small voice from within” for madness or hallucination or the like, so convinced was I of its sincerity, and what followed was and is the proof.
And to be sure, once I did escape and set about to writing, everything flowed as she said. Not only that, but the longer I lived “keeping the faith,” the more that positive encounters and events popped up along the way (aside from economic/unemployment matters, which sucked). The negativity and malicious beasts of my recent past had been left behind. Encouraged, I kept spotting signs of beneficent illumination provided by these signposts and marking my way as I climbed up the Mountain…
Then, I reached the top, when all of the creative work was finished. Time to return down to Earth, so as to present our offspring to the World! I reflect upon my Muse’s words and that prediction and that promise…
Navigating the treacherous waters surrounding the publishing industry, looking for somewhere to land… And now, after my query letters have finally begun going out in quantities hopefully sufficient to gain an opening in the Publisher’s walls, “She” has showed herself! You might have read about Lily here, and her conceptual designs/inspirations, and my mention of “Dee” being one of them. She is indeed Special For many years we’ve been apart, and I’ve fruitlessly searched for her by as many means as I had at my disposal. One recent day I was on a social networking site and thought, “what the hell; might as well try here.” And what do you know? She responded to my PM and sure enough, it was her! After nineteen years we’re going to have a reunion this week, and if she’s as joyful about it as I am then it’s going to be wonderful Â
Something she shared with me:
Choose your own analogy/symbology/metaphysics
So far, the Way of Living Through Faith has been unpredictable, scary, strenuous, exciting, exhilarating, and always interesting; this Grand Experiment of mine is coming alone fine. All that remains is to find that Agent or Publisher willing to be the conduit through which the Story is delivered… and so we’re working on that
 (By the way, you can click the pics in this article to go to the NASA-Hubble website for information on each photo, and where larger photos are downloadable as well.)
Reflecting: One of the things that I was most reluctant to leave behind my former home in the San Juan Islands (in Washington’s Puget Sound) was the infinitely deep and dark nights, which when clear of the seemingly omnipresent cloud cover revealed an indigo sky of star-dappled clarity which is unequaled among the various locations I’ve lived in. So it was with relief and pleasure to discover that in my new locale in California’s Central Valley I could not only view a fairly black firmament amongst which hundreds of stars could be seen, but also the delight of being able to go into the back yard shirtless and in shorts at a still-warm 3AM to behold the most glorious of earthly wonders, of those things that are not of this Earth: from our earthbound perspective the sight of the surrounding space and its stars and celestial bodies…
photo by Akari Fuuji of Omega Centauri region
There’s really nothing quite like kicking back in the pre-early-morning hours and looking as deep as possible into that speckled black sky, through and past all of those glittering multicolored individuals populating the Deep… shot through with its silver pinpricks, distant reflective planets, the occasional streaks of shooting stars, and our Good Neighbor, the Moon in all her phases. But we can’t go deeper than that, not without help. There are certain “super-glasses” that bring the wonders of the Beyond into our own back yard…
Inside the globular star cluster Omega Centauri
Today NASA released ten new photographs from the Hubble Space Telescope which has just undergone an upgrade, and the resulting snapshots are truly breathtaking, mystifying, and inspiring. Inspiring of what? Well… I guess that’s up to the individual. Cynics might regard these pictures as “lights in spaaaaace” while those more (let’s say) mystically-oriented might surmise a number of things, decidedly less mundane. I think that “awe-inspiring” should just about cover everyone!
Here’s my favorite; being that the butterfly is the Icon for my novel Unbound, this one really flew out at me:
a celestial butterfly in space
…simply awe-inspiring.
Reflection: There is so much beauty in nature no matter where you look, either farthest out in the reaches of space, or right here on our own planet where its wonders are so profound from the valleys to the mountains to the clouds. There is nothing that nature creates that is truly “ugly” if beheld objectively. Even we humans, created by that Unknown-and-Unknowable Source, even in our homeliest of bodies, of souls, cannot be viewed as loathsome. Only the cynical and mean-spirited beholder’s derisive, hateful and subjective outlook casts so many people and things in its ugly and artificial light. The only ugliness in nature is that tendency for people to behave with ugliness; it’s only here in This Ugly Yet Beautiful World” (shameless but unrecognized plug for an anime I haven’t yet seen which is probably lousy but love the title). The world isn’t ugly, just the evil deeds that men and women do.
Oops! I got caught up in my Reflection
Gazing at these NASA pics from the upgraded Hubble Telescope one can’t help to wonder about how truly little we know. Not only about space, but other things as well. Yet there are some who feel that we (i.e. they)Â know EVERYTHING, and so their opinions are fixed and unyielding until some “proof” can be shoved in their face to convince them otherwise. They are rigid brick walls rather then bendable trees. Take this next pic as an example, shot in two different types of light, the top in visible light and the bottom in near-infrared:
same birthing scene, seen in a different light
The contrast in these “twin” photographs is amazing, especially if you mentally overlay one on top of the other. The top, being taken in visible light, shows a spectacularly dreamy, gauzy space scene of a towering three light-year long birthing cloud in the Carina Nebula. But many of the stars in and behind it are obscured by this “reality.” In the bottom photo, taken at the near-infrared end of the spectrum, such details spring into view with amazing clarity, with the pillar becoming semi-transparent so that what was behind its veil is revealed to exist in this reality. And what exists is real, not the beautiful but illusory veil that obscures its truth.
Reflected: There is much of this Earthly existence that we cannot see or touch and so some of us don’t believe that there’s more to it despite the Unknown being sensed. And depending upon the individual, our five senses can either be pretty functional or else used only for basic survival. In certain souls of high perception or sensitivity they can be used to ascertain or search for truths that are not evident and hidden, especially with what is referred to as “the sixth sense.” Of course, this utility is disparaged by the cynics and mean-spirited ones who value more their need for ego-stroking and feeling superior despite the darkness that surrounds their souls. And so it goes… collisions are inevitable.
when galaxies collide, Stephan's Quintet
 Well, I’ll skip further postulating, ruminating, and (yes) Reflecting on earthly matters and return to the stars, the stars, the stars, my God the stars… for it’s quite possible that at times we really were out there, in a non-physical sense, when our souls traveled between the galaxies and planets chasing comets and stars in between our earthly incarnations. This could explain our fascination and yearning to travel out among them, couldn’t it?  There’s just so much that we don’t, can’t, and won’t know about Life, the Universe, and Everything. So the best thing is to get along down here on the ground while we can, get along with each other, and just get along. If the theory is true, we’ll return to the stars soon enough… and in the meantime, we can watch them:-D
And the above is probably why I’m enjoying so much an innocuous little anime called Sora no Manimani, or, “At the Mercy of the Sky”…
What follows is the trailer for this currently-airing show about star-gazing. It’s untranslated but short, yet even though the words are not understandable, I think you’ll get the gist:
“We’re gypsies Rob, we’ve always been.” Georges was speaking matter-of-fact, as if this was something he’d known to have always been true. I was struck with clarity the moment he’d uttered them. “We go to where we want to, when we want to, where the opportunities exist.” Damn, he was right…
I first met Georges around 1968. I was close friends with his sister Cathy, who later introduced me to Jimi Hendrix, Eric Burdon, Buddy Miles, and several other heroes of my youth. But hers is another long sad story, for another happier day; this one’s about Georges, and in particular, his words that day. In the intervening years between then and this meeting in 2005, we’d both moved around a lot, and had happened through serendipity to have relocated some fifteen miles apart, over twenty years since our last contact. He was researching a location to open up a new restaurant in the exact same town I’d been thinking of moving to. This in itself was remarkable enough of a coincidence, but the subject of that day was the chances of our meeting up again, the ways in which we arrived at that same place on the earth, and the various and vicarious means by which we got there.
We were gypsies. That made it all the more miraculous.
With Cathy’s assistance (and insistence no doubt) he got me my first job, at a little place called “Mori’s Kosher Style Delicatessen” located in San Francisco’s Financial District, in 1968, and run by a transplanted New Yorker named Mori Solomon. An older man and a funny, shrewd, and calculating Jew, I suppose he was something of a gypsy himself, having transplanted his successful and well-known eatery in N.Y.C. to the Bay Area of all places, anathema to an East-Coaster. His small establishment catered to the Montgomery Street business-and-Wall-Street types while being staffed by hippies, as unlikely a combination as you’d expect to find in those days of persecution. Mori was not a hippie. The above picture is an accurate snapshot of what kind of guy he really was. I think, in fact, that he might have been a fence. Beneath a huge trap door in the floor he had a cellar beneath the whole shop that was filled with everything you could imagine: televisions, toasters, disposable hypo needles, cameras, radios, you name it. And then there was his rooftop… He even, for those special occasions with special visitors, hauled out a kitchen sink for those who marvelled at the diversity of his collection, exclaiming with a mischievous snicker, “Everything AND the kitchen sink!” He was a character.
In the latter days of writing my novel Unbound when trying unsuccessfully to find a way to describe a story that was about so many things, I remembered Mori’s cellar and his sink. So I, in a moment of pique, threw in a scene where Will’s mom is washing dishes at their kitchen sink. And so began describing this indescribably deep, layered, and allegorical story simply as being “about everything.” Because, it is. About everything that a gypsy might come across or encounter in his travels; or a wanderer, a teller of tales, or even a Fool of the highest caliber…
With the lifeblood and essence ofthis Romantic’s Heart, this Poet’s Mind, and this Gypsy’s Soul pumping through my being, I would uproot myself at every opportunity as my fortunes and misfortunes changed. Once upon a time, when I was 17 or so and my father and I had had enough of our constant arguing and fighting ever since my decision to hang out on the Haight Street scene, and my oft-repeated vow that I’d move if I knew he wasn’t going to call the cops, he finally said, “Look, if you want to go that bad, fine; I won’t call them.” He then went off to shower.
In the twenty minutes that he was gone, I’d taken down my posters, packed up most of my stuff, called a nearby friend to pick me up, and I was gone, just like that. I was a runaway for about a month, living off the food I got from Mori’s. After a brief stay at a pair of cute strippers’ apartment off of Third Street I ended up sheltering at Georges’ place, which coincidentally was where Cathy and their family was renting from my grandmother, right down the street; in the same flat where I was born. After seeing the misery that my absence was causing my mother, I returned home, and we all made a truce of sorts; though my parents still disapproved of my lifestyle choice, they decided to trust in me, and I in them. This began the long road to our reconciliation, and also served to solidify my resolve to become (at that time) a Poet, and later, a Writer. Because they still supported me, in all my wild ways… and that is love.
And this is why Unbound is dedicated to their memory, with Love… for it’s not so much a love-story (though it is indeed just that), it’s a story about Love, in all its manifestations. Even a gypsy has a family, and more often than not, has a home… even though he’s oft absent from them. And always seeking, in one form or another, for one reason or another, that ever-elusive Love…
But I did move around a lot. Finally deciding to find a place wherein to concentrate solely upon the crafting of my manuscript, I moved for that purpose, for one last time. It was always for one last time, but it never was. Now, once again this gypsy is poised for escape, one step ahead of the sheriff’s men, who were to be evicting me in less than a month. But another reward for the investing of Faith (see posts below) has occurred; the property’s auction date has been postponed for another month, for God-knows-why. So now I’m two steps ahead, but still in need of that safe haven I’ve always sought, and have never found, from which to launch my writing Career. It will come; I have Faith that it will; that this Fool will find his way off the mountain, and not off its precipice into the Abyss…
I have Faith, I have Hope, and I have Love… these are all that I need except for a partner to share them with, and she will come to me, I am sure. All in due Time :-D
The title of this post is taken from the closing track from Arthur Brown’s Galactic Zoo Dossier album, of which the song “Sunrise” served as one of the spring-boards from which I jump-started this novel (see another post a ways below for it). Since “love” has always been the main thrust of the book, and Arthur a strong vocal proponent of it (listen to his “Love is a Spirit (That Will Never Die)” for proof of this), I’d always wanted this story to reflect and to strike deeply into the Reader with just as much force and feeling as this and other beloved artists delivered their own powerfully emotive works to their Listeners.  Thus, the story’s structure and delivery is very musical, lyrical, and deep beneath the surface of its words, emotionally powerful.
In closing, I’ll leave you with a video of Arthur singing “Helen With the Sun”, another of his songs that I included on Unbound’s “soundtrack”. This is raw emotion, power, and a startling vocal range delivered through the talents of not only his voice but also that of his co-writer and guitarist Andy Dalby (who’s one of my favorite guitarists). Boost the volume, too and feel it as deeply as you can. Don’t be distracted by anything else, either; just Listen! And as for that false fadeout, keep on listening; the ending is wonderful. He has a presentation that is unreal!
Thought I’d make an epic post about the History and the Mystery of Unbound…
Early on along this rocky Road, I looked at its end and decided that I didn’t want to leave it not having used whatever gifts I’d been granted to create something that would do its best to make the world a better place. Idealistic? A Dreamer? Fool-ish? Perhaps. But it’s what I wanted most in This World. And so, I embarked with a Purpose… or rather, we did…
It was around 1974 or so when the inspiration for what ultimately became Unbound first struck me. The story’s essence had always been influenced by Percy and Mary Shelley’s masterworks (as has been related previously), but this tale needed to be uniquely fleshed-out and have a fitting shell in which this spirit must exist. For some reason, the Angel’s Eggalbum by the zany psych/prog group Gong (headed by ex-Soft Machine Daevid Allen) led my imagination far into the ether, and though the subject matter had nothing to do with the story I’d first intended, it certainly did inspire me to begin thinking “outside the box” and attempt a work as wonderfully convoluted, sacred, mysterious, and profane. Their story centers on the adventures of Zero the Hero, who has absolutely nothing in common with Lily, aside from the fact that zero is the number of the Tarot card The Fool. Given the blog entry several places below, that may not be entirely coincidental!
(Beware! This and the next clips are definitely from the outermost realms of the musical galaxy! Be brave, go forth and explore This is “Love Is How Y Make it” from Angel’s Egg, featuring my favorite drummer/percussionist Pierre Moerlen, and topmost guitar-fish by Steve Hillage:)
EDIT: Unfortunately embedding was disabled, so (A) here’s the link to YouTube: Love Is How Y Make It
And (B) here’s a link that I CAN embed, purely out of spite LOL It’s a bit repetitious, spacy, and typical Daevid, but it might make for good background music as you read onward (hopefully!): “Wise Man In Your Heart” from Good Morning (1976), over a nice set of surreal images…
So there!
The second record to affect my creative energies (with regard to Unbound) was Galactic Zoo Dossier by Arthur (“Fire”) Brown and Kingdom Come; namely the song “Sunrise” which packed such an emotional wallop that I wanted to create something as powerful, as moving, and as descriptive. It’s one of my most-played songs to be sure (and contains a personal “in-the-Top-5″ pair of guitar solos performed by Andy Dalby):
These, along with the works of Pink Floyd and other exploratory bands provoked my deeper thoughts on what and how the story should evolve, and where the story should go in order to reach the deepest depths of each Reader’s heart, mind, and soul. Such music plays an important part in the deliverance and presentation of this story… and its Workings.
At this time I also became aware of a Source that will, for now, remain a secret, as certain cards I’m keeping very close to my vest! But in terms of philosophy, theology/theosophy, and mystery (to name but a few), this source became my True Inspiration, and I embarked upon my researching as the story began to show its skeleton, bone by bone…
Around about 1978 I decided to take on a graveyard shift job at a tourist motel in San Francisco, which allowed me to bring in my source books and begin research in earnest. The owners, a lovely French couple, allowed me several shelves of a book case on which to store my library of around 50 books. And so, for the next ten years, I took voluminous notes and read quite a lot of material. I still had little idea of how I’d present the story, or the characters, or even what it would be about. This was merely tilling the soil, fertilizing it, and meanwhile slowly constructing a skeleton on which to hang the flesh of the story… and the Garden in which it would play.
It all exploded into clarity in late 1985, when I became exposed to?the music of Kate Bush, and completely, irrevocably immersed in her work. Such emotional depth that struck straight into the heart, the timeless beauty, truth, and wisdom echoed in her words that resonated deeply with my soul, the achingly wonderful and moving melodies and composition?that let my mind wander in her music’s embrace or clutch, and not the least, the luminescent being and soul that she is, all conspired to provide not only a place of belonging for me in the world, but also the Goal for my story, and the characters in it, in which they could?truly live. In essence, she gave me (and the story) Life, and Love…
This was the Epiphany; I subsequently began to pad the flesh around the story’s bones with muscle, and the Will for it to Live.
But then… the realities (and expenses) of Real Life interrupted my flow, and I was forced to take a job that would enable me to subsist in a large, competetive, and expensive city. Unfortunately, I became a target for my supervisors, and while I was considered a highly-regarded employee by everyone else, they were under administrative instructions to force me to quit. (I’d become a medical liability due to a naive signing-off at their doctor’s request that my work-induced back injury was initiated prior to?this accident on the job, thus making me expendable.) During this time I was unable to work on my story at all due to the emotional and mental poisons infecting my systems. I was reduced to merely scribbling ideas, plot-threads, and character sketches on scraps of paper and collecting these in a box; I couldn’t sit down long enough to even warm up, let alone write a full page. When writing, in order to maintain focus, concentration, and stamina, I can’t work with any distractions, interruptions, or breaks. When I’m in contact with The Muse, I am solely intent on Listening to her… and transcribing faithfully and accurately. This is my responsibility.
After?many months of putting up with my unrelenting back pain and their constant pressure (I was tasked with getting three backlogged and formerly-fulltime desk assignments caught up and maintained or else), at one point?on one dark night I was lying curled up on the floor; I couldn’t stand, sit, or lie on my bed due to the pain. Completely at a loss as to what to do, I broke down and cried out for help. You might say that I was praying with all my might… and it seemed that the end of my Road was right in front of me.
It was then, at my lowest point, that I heard her… I felt with my imagination a loving hand on my cheek, and a voice that whispered to me, inside: “Be calm, take comfort, stay strong. You must extract yourself from this killing field and reposition yourself in life in order to create a work as beautiful as we aspire to. Get the story out to as many souls as possible; I will come to you and tell it to you, and we will give it life together. And, when it does reach the World, She will come to you as well…” (The “She” refers to my soul-mate, but that is another long story, sooo… onwards:)
This incident is one of the most vivid and significant events of my life, and while I might not have quoted “her” precisely word-for-word, that was the exact gist of her message. Since another similar significant event had transpired when I was seven or eight (when I believed that I saw my Guardian Angel), this was quite easy for me to accept either as another visitation or a direct contact with my Creative Muse. The ancient Greeks attributed personalities and names to the Muses, and so this was not at all any great stretch for my imagination. Whether Calliope (epic/heroic poetry), Euterpe (lyrical poetry), Erato (love poetry), Melpomene (tragedy), or Polyhymnia (sacred poetry) I could not determine, as all of these elements and influences were present and struggling to voice themselves in my story. For this singular identity I settled on a combination of these creative energies that were being fed to me through my helpful, caring, and loving companion, whom, given her constant presence and devotion to not only me but my story, I named Lily, which means “devotion”.
By?1993, I’d finally finished a rough draft of the first few chapters, but still hadn’t chosen a definite name for my main character. But given that this delightful and troubled young woman was as caring, loving, and devoted as my Muse/Angel, I decided that Lily would be the most appropriate name for her. And, most surprisingly, not a day or so later, Kate’s The Red Shoes was released… and my eyes absolutely popped when I saw one of the titles: “Lily”. It was a huge OMG moment
And, so, she was born, and baptised by fire?:-)
Eventually I was able to extract myself from my hellish work situation, but at a terrible cost: having gotten my third case of pneumonia in four years, battling chronic bronchitis, and after the torment of those awful years culminating in Major Depressive Disorder, I finally (and literally) just walked off the job in 1998, and never went back. Still dealing with the 1997 death of my father, I realized that I still needed to support myself sufficiently if I wanted to stay in San Francisco and so returned to another graveyard shift job where I could resume work on my book. But in 2000, my mother had a stroke and to my (and my siblings’) despair, passed on after two months in critical condition, having never really regained consciousness. There are no words which can suffice to express the heartbreak…
After another torturous year dealing with settling our parents’ estate, and breaking up with my girlfriend, I decided to make The Hard?Choice: Being that the inheritance would allow me just enough to purchase a home, but only in a much-cheaper market, and subsist for a while without needing to find work right away, I moved away from family and friends and companionship and comfort, 800 miles away from home, determined to write. I found a small suburban home, but comfy and nice, and immediately set about to keeping my end of?the bargain with my Muse, my Angel, and my Lily…???
Work began in earnest.?The bones were strong, the muscles flexed, bloodvessels began to show their definition, the heart was in place, the brain began to direct the life of the novel. On Christmas Day 2003, I finished the first draft, at that point 660 pages. To celebrate, I designed and commissioned a Realdoll version of Lily, to sit at my side and continue to inspire me, and act as a “shell” for my Muse. Whether it worked or not I don’t know, but the Muse remained with me within or without, as I began rewriting. It was so wonderful to look at Lily “in the flesh” as it were, and kept her ever-present not only in my heart and mind, but in my life as well. I’ve never regretted it once…
But Real Life began closing in on me again, and so after three or four revisions I?felt the pressing need to escape the ever-more constant interruptions and neighbors “popping in” and involvements with the community, nice as they were. I simply couldn’t keep at it, and both the Story and the Muse demanded this absolute level of concentration. So, once again I moved, and this time I located the perfect “writer’s retreat” in a location that didn’t lend itself to passersby, neighbors, or distractions.
Immediately after settling in, in September 2005, I was able to fully set to my rewrites. Unfortunately in order to manage this purchase, I had to get a questionable loan, and last year became unable to maintain the payments. To date, I’ve gone through about $250,000 of living expenses without having worked, all in order to provide a safe, secluded home for my Muse while diligently tending to our Life’s Work. Presently, despite having found a minimum-wage job around Labor Day,?I’m running on empty, as elaborated upon in posts below…
Incidentally, another interesting “Kate koincidence” regarding this property… In August 2005 I was?checking the various homes available up here, and found that this particular place had an old satelite dish (or aerial, I suppose) standing in the large backyard area. For some reason, despite its dilapidated state, it appealed to me, and was kind of a “plus” to my (fanciful LOL) eye. After I’d signed the deal and returned home, I was chatting in my Kate Bush Forum’s chatroom, when the Board’s adminstrator popped in with an announcement: after twelve years, Kate’s new album after The Red Shoes was imminent, and was to be called… Aerial! Aside from the “aerial” in my backyard, there is also a character named Ariel in the story, so this was yet another miraculous bit of “strange phenomena” in my long history with Kate and her wonderful Work…
Once I was firmly established in my new home I began work on my story’s surgical procedures, going an average of 10-16 hours a day, oftentimes as many as 18 hours in one go, weeks without a break. I Was On Fire! I was fully in tune with my Muse and she sang to me clearly and painted from her colorful palette the canvas of the story as I happily sculpted its Image?ever-so-carefully with my words. Finally, on July 30 2006 (not-so-oddly enough, Kate’s birthday!), we wrapped up the final draft with a firm thump to its heavy chest, and it took its first full breath. Two more intensive and bloody proofreading?procedures and it was done, and the copyright immediately secured. It now topped out at 733 pages, and every single extraneous word, phrase, and sentence excised with the scalpel’s ruthless and precise incisions. (Unlike this post, but nevermind… :-p )
And now… “It’s aliiive!!!”
For now, the lovingly-made Creature lies sleeping in its un-final resting place, awaiting that agent or publisher brave enough to tend to its inscrutable needs. We all are praying for this most fervently. After all of this time on this very rocky, long and winding road, we’ve come to the precipice as mentioned in posts below. Any mis-step will likely result in ruin, and worse, including the disappearance of This Space. But we are done, and happy, because we have made it thus far. We crafted this… Creation… for your pleasure and hoped-for uplifting, your heartbreak, your despair, your transcendence, and ultimately your meeting with your Imagined?destiny. You only need get through The Horror, as we did. Lily will be with you… for she’s been on?this Journey too.
I recently came across a fantastic song entitled “Illusion” by a heretofore-unknown (to me) band called vnv nation. So unknown that I’m still unsure as to where and if capital letters are included in their name. The message remains however: this is a great song and the composition and lyrics both tell of a real Song Writer. As this particular topic crosses categories of many types, please bear with me as I snip it into two entries…
While searching for a particular Anime Music Video (AMV) in order to “campaign” for a character from the series Kanon, I found this stunning tribute to Makoto Sawatari, who plays one of the five girls whose lives have been affected by the protagonist, Yuuichi. (The campaign is for her nomination for inclusion in the 2009 International Saimoe League, which will be the subject of a later post.) I’ve often mentioned Kanon (2006) here, being as it’s probably my favorite anime story. I’m going to break with (my) tradition and reveal some spoilers, so as to better enable you to understand the following video, and as it relates to the song’s lyrics. If any readers intend to watch Kanon, this WILL spoil some of its secrets with regard to Makoto, so please bear this in mind! If not intending to watch it, then (a) you won’t be spoiled, and (b) you might learn something about this wonderful Japanese art-form…
First, about the story…
In Kanon, Yuuichi returns to a “snow-covered city” where as a child he used to spend summer with his Aunt Akiko and cousin Nayuki. The story revolves around him attempting to piece together his shattered (with good reason) memory, and the connectivity of the five special girls he encounters, some from his past, some present, and some… rather time-less.?One summer long ago, he came across a wounded fox-cub while exploring, and brought it home to his aunt’s house where he secretly kept it upstairs in his room while he tended to it, talked to it, and cared for it. The little cub grew dependent on him, and listened to him chat about his life, his interests, and in particular, his crush on an older neighbor named… Makoto Sawatari.?
But, “to all good things must come an end”… and at summer’s end, knowing that he had to leave to return to his parents home, he brought the cub back to the hill where he’d found it, and set it free, running tearfully away as the cub, bewildered at this sudden separation, searched frantically for him, as time passed them?by, both of them…
Now, some?years later,?a much-older Yuuichi returns. Seven years ago An Event happened which has clouded some of his memories and obliterated others. So, when walking downtown one day and he is assaulted on the sidewalk by a cloaked and hooded girl, he is not too surprised that he doesn’t recognize her. But, she does him, although as to her own identity, she is, for some reason, uncertain.?Discovering that she has no place to go to and assuming that she’s a runaway, he brings her to his aunt’s house where he’s?once again?living. Akiko allows her to stay while they try to find her?family.
FROM EPISODE 7, “Fugue”: During this time, her antagonistic attitude toward Yuuichi mellows somewhat, though she does, for some reason unknown to either of them, harbor a serious grudge against him. One day a little kitten?”adopts her”, and the three of them walk over an overpass and stop to?discuss what to do with it. Holding it at the railing she muses that?”in the end, animals just get?thrown away when they’re no longer wanted. Don’t you agree, Yuuichi?” His response is cut short as she continues: “Instead of thoughtlessly giving it a peaceful life with the humans, it would be better off if it were returned to the wild.”??And she lets it go…
Furious, Yuuichi berates her and she runs off, and doesn’t come home. After dinner, he goes looking for her, and eventually spies her on Monomi Hill, sitting on the hilltop. He sees that she and the cat have somehow found each other again, and overhears her saying to it, “We’re the same, you know. Nuisances with nowhere to go.” She curls up with it and falls asleep, exhausted from her searching. Yuuichi carries her home, passing on the way a fox, who watches them intently before scampering off…
In the middle of the night she awakens, and is surprised that she has been brought back to the house. Akiko treats her as family, and they sit down together for?a midnight snack as she, bewildered, regards these strangers who express such concern and care for her…
Over the next three episodes of her story arc… Well, I can’t tell the WHOLE story here! If you’ve read “Flowers For Algernon”, or seen its film adaptation “Charly” starring Cliff Robertson, that’s kind of the gist. Kind of.?Makoto begins to lose her humanity…
A girl who knows more than she wants to let on, Amano, tells?Yuuichi a story about the mythical magical foxes on Monomi Hill. But Yuuichi believes in magic just about as you or I would… and yet Kanon is a story about magic, and miracles, and dreams. And Real Life… They are all intertwined
I’ll allow the video to tell (most of) the rest of the story. (And, if interested, Kanon (2006) is available on DVD *hint hint*…) While watching, note the relationship between the lyrics and the visuals and it?may come to you. Interpretation is always a grey area, and telling exactly what a lyric means should always be left to the Listener. It changes with your situation, and with others’… please enjoy, and thanks to vnv nation for this great song!
ILLUSION
[February 2007]
I know it’s hard to tell how mixed up you feel
Hoping what you need is behind every door
Each time you get hurt I don’t want you to change
Because everyone has hopes
You?re human after all
The feeling sometimes wishing you were someone else
feeling as though you never belong
This feeling is not sadness
This feeling is not joy
I truly understand
Please don’t cry now
Please, don’t go
I want you to stay
I’m begging you, please
Please, don’t leave here
I don?t want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel
The world is just illusion trying to change you
Being like you are
well this is something else.
Who would comprehend?
But some that do lay claim
that divine purpose blesses them
Well that’s not what I believe
and it doesn’t matter anyway.
A part of your soul ties you to the next world
or maybe to the last but I’m still not sure
What I do know is to us the world is different
as we are to the world
I guess you would know that
Please, don’t go
I want you to stay
I’m begging you, please
Please, don’t leave here
I don?t want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel
The world is just illusion trying to change you
Please, don’t go
I want you to stay
I’m begging you, please
Please, don’t leave here
I don?t want you to change for all the hurt that you feel
This world is just illusion always trying to change you
I’ve always preferred, with a few exceptions, classical literature over the modern. There was just something timeless about it that appealed to me, despite the sometimes archaic writing and forms of expression. Since the age of ten, as far as I can recall, I’d go to the library and bring home stories such as The Iliadand the Odyssey, The Arabian Nights, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Lovecraft, Verne and Poe, and books on Greek mythology and the Norse and Roman gods. A Classics Illustrated edition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein led me to get that book, and from its own pages discovered John Milton’s Paradise Lost, along with the works of Percy Shelley, most notably Prometheus Unbound (not to mention Alastor, or, the Spirit of Solitude).
So when the opportunity arose several years ago to take advantage of the Easton Press series of “The 100 Greatest Books Ever Written” I jumped at it, tempted by the offer of acquiring Herman Melville’s Moby Dick at an introductory price. Each randomly-sent volume is leather-bound and gilt-edged with pages in 22 kt gold, many with illustrations by the author’s original choice of artist. Absolutely beautiful volumes, and quite spendy. But I wanted to upgrade my poor beaten-up library with quality editions of the classics and so began the 100-month run. Of the volumes offered in the series, the two that I was most looking forward to were Milton’s and, of course, Frankenstein (my sixth edition LOL).
In May of last year I was preparing to assault the agent/publishing world with my first serious queries but was suffering (as usual) from uncertainty, mistrust, and fear of the industry. After reading so much about it I was definitely intimidated and completely put off by their attitudes and arrogance, and was praying for a signal or a sign to go ahead and get on with it, that the World was ready to receive my work despite the “business” and its obstacles. Like a wink, in that week I received the volume of Frankenstein from Easton. Just typing it like this doesn’t really deliver the anecdote with the significance I felt at the time, but it was a very nice little poke from the heavens, let’s say Since there are a hundred books in the series, and that was the twenty-fifth that I’d gotten, the odds were one-in-seventy-five that Frankenstein would arrive right when I needed it to come in that month, on that day. There’ve been SO MANY similar incidents along the road along the way that I couldn’t even begin to list them! I consider them as signposts lighting the path leading to Lily’s story finally reaching you, and me reaching the end of this journey and hopefully toward the beginning of a new one, namely a career in story-telling, as I feel has been my calling since age 11…
An aside: In my early teens I recall my father used to laugh and call me “Unconscious”, as that’s how I seemed to go though life; without really thinking about it. I would, actually, but rather than force my way through it lived rather intuitively; I thought laterally rather than just thinking ahead, like life was a chess game rather than checkers. It’s very hard to describe and I’ve no-one to compare it to or share it with who grasps it, so this attempt is probably wasted here as well. My friends would just say “you’re weird” LOL When significant events came up or lifestyle changes occurred I would try to roll with them as gracefully as I could; “you don’t push the river” as Van Morrison wisely advised. I swam in the middle of it; floating most of the time…
For instance, while the discovery of anime (right around when Frankenstein arrived) delayed my query-letter attempts, it did provide much inspiration and instruction in story-telling, and further justified and fortified my own sense of Unboundbeing a success because while there really is nothing like it in literature, anime showed me an incredible number of similarities that I could plainly see (and feel) working. It’s been inspiring, and the second-most significant discovery in my whole life, only behind the revelation, fortification, and inspiration of Kate Bush’s work. That’s a story for Another Day…
Now that the initial “awakening” to anime has subsided and I’m pretty caught up with it, the life-cycle is cycling once again around to resuming the dreaded and hated publishing push. While I know and feel without a doubt that the World wants and is ready to accept what I’ve created for it, I also feel that the publishing industry does not. Just as with the record industry, they’re interested in money, flash, and marketing ability, as opposed to quality, substance, and duty -the duty to connect Art-work with its intended Recipient. Unfortunately, this is considered “idealistic”, as it interferes with their money-concerns, which rules all in both worlds. And I imagine that because of this skewed perspective the Publishing INDUSTRY is going the way of the Record COMPANY; both seem to me to be sinking ships, plunging toward the bottom line that is indeed bottoming out, stubbornly tied to their anchors of Greed. So, I can’t say that I’ve been too enthused… and I’ve been working on other ways to get Lily’s story out to You
But: I’ve spent so much time and especially money over the past seven years that things are approaching crisis stage. The only luxuries I allow myself are assorted anime series, since I’ve missed so much of it and it fills so many needs. I’m having to cut out subscriptions of all kinds; for the past two months I’ve been meaning to cut out the Easton press books, as they’re about $45 a month that I now need. But, I really wanted the Milton book…
Last month I had planned on stopping the sub, but I forgot. So I pulled out their brochure and put it in the middle of the table so I wouldn’t forget that this was IT. I forgot anyway. Friday another book came and I cursed myself for not taking care of it, but, ever hopeful, opened it up thinking “Well, this is the last shot.” I carefully removed the book, and saw on the brown leather cover a pair of engraved golden hands emerging from water, palms upraised with rays connecting them to a sun high up in the clouds. My heart leapt -could it be? I turned the book over and there on the spine: Paradise Lost, by John Milton!
Whoa, dude! It even has the original illustrations by William Blake! Since this is the fortieth volume I’ve received in the series, that leaves a one-in-sixty chance of getting it at this precise time, just before cancelling (which I WILL have to do. Monday. For sure.)! Anyway, it’s crisis time, and I have to examine my hat carefully for rabbits to pull out. Getting a little scary, but I won’t bore you with details. You’ve already read enough, haven’t you?
Or have you? Heck, I can’t tell! I’ve got a book to read
Oh, and exactly WHY are Shelley, Milton, and Shelley so significant with regard to Lily’s story? Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Maybe they’re not after all! I’ve told a little, but not a lot; there’s a tiny bit here, and a bigger bit there. But where I mustn’t say. You’ll find out, in due time, if fortune is with us, that is… so I pray. It’ll probably take a miracle, but I do believe in those…
Keep reading; it’s good for you
on the water
"When early youth had passed, he left his cold fireside and alienated home to seek strange truths in undiscovered lands. Many a wide waste and tangled wilderness has lured his fearless steps; and he has bought with his sweet voice and eyes, from savage men, his rest and food." (from 'Alastor, or, The Spirit of Solitude', by Percy Bysshe Shelley,1815)
For info on our novel UNBOUND, please see our website in the Blogroll!
 But in case that fix doesn’t work out I thought I’d try this as a new Post which I can put up. But it is a seven-page excerpt from the novel and so rather lengthy for a Post (even mine). AND THEN I FOUND THE “MORE” TAB :-O
(And please forgive any formatting errors; I’m hurrying this out!)
