

Summary: As one of the keepers of Nico’s secrets, Queen has a few thoughts for her Clan Leader when she finds out about the betrayers of her Clan.


Summary: As one of the keepers of Nico’s secrets, Queen has a few thoughts for her Clan Leader when she finds out about the betrayers of her Clan.

If you feel like you are unsure of what is real and what is unreal then you are not alone. Our materialistic mode of life is accelerating and expanding so rapidly that it is saturating our modern cultures to the point of abstraction. Life in materially-privileged societies is increasingly shifting into a world of image and show. Many people today are living within their bubbles that are customized by all the digital conveniences tailored to individual needs. By being surrounded by conveniences that satisfy all our needs we are deliberately excluding so much else, including all of life’s serendipities.
Reality – whatever that is or was – has retreated behind a spectacle of make-believe that is playing at being the new, shimmering façade for the 21st century. One result of this is that things which once stood in opposition to one another are losing their meaning and becoming indistinguishable. That is, fixed identities that used to make life easy for us – us/them, friend/enemy, good/bad, and the rest – are now more like false realities. Life has shifted, or has been pushed, into a realm of invention that is being exploited ever more overtly by politicians, mainstream media, and their propaganda machinery. Out of this, a different sense of reality has emerged that succeeds in absorbing differences and contradictions and making them seem smooth rather than jagged. And the result is what I refer to as hyperreality.
Continue reading “Hyperreality (or what not there isn’t to believe?)”
A World where Transformation is Contagious
My new book has just been released in the US, UK and Spain.
The Saffron Collectors will be published in June 2018 by the Beautiful traitor Books imprint. The imaginative book presents a world where transformation is contagious’ and where the young protagonists find themselves in an unusual orphanage called the Azafran Home for Girls under the supervision of the enigmatic La Madre. The major activity at the orphanage is the planting and growing of saffron flowers and the collection of its delicate spice. And the girls need to be made ready for when the time comes for the harvesting of the saffron spice. As the main protagonist, Teresa, develops a stronger bond and relationship with La Madre, she suspects that there is more to the Azafran Home for Girls than just picking flowers.
The Saffron Collectors comes fully color-illustrated with over 40 hand-drawn watercolor paintings from Naomi Hasegawa, a young artist.

Photo: https://media.iwm.org.uk/ciim5/36/103/large_000000.jpg
A World War 1 trench, not quite the Hyatt, Hilton or whatever, way beyond my experience.
I Hope Someone Remembers
Trenches could not be loved,
they were open tombs,
flooded, muddied, with
congealed wire garlands and
sodden timber treads,
and the stench of the living dead all round,
their sunken eyes testimony to
the glue of resignation and guilt.
Our feet blackened for love of country,
our minds already lost
in battles of their own,
Dante’s Inferno come to life,
with the sting of gas and metallic chatter,
always the thudding, crumping, shells
that shake our bones
and reshape our vision.
Our thoughts occasionally turn to
going home, could it be?
But that thought is scotched
as machine guns lace the air,
and the referee’s whistle calls play,
all the while the unrelenting cries
of death and pain rain down.
No more to hold a hand or taste…
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I received word yesterday that my manuscript for Where Shadows Fall has been accepted by my publisher. This means it should be ready for release in time for holiday sales. Where Shadows Fall will serve as the ending of the Shades and Shadows trilogy, though not likely the end of stories in that world. I have […]
My those two weeks of vacation disappeared in a flash! I had an amazing time visiting Rome and Pompeii and Florence and Venice and Paris! Lots of great food and lots of wonderful vistas. I got home last week, but was unfortunately sick with a cold I picked up in Paris. Woke up with it […]
As I was looking for a book, I came across a small cache of copies of Through Shade and Shadow with the original cover. If you recall, when we released In Gathering Shade, we redesigned the cover. So here I sit with a bunch of the old covers and I thought that would be a […]
Title: Waiting For Me To Catch Up
Rating:PG-15
Summary:When Jeremiah Parks returned to the city of his birth, his life was in such turmoil that he failed to realize the most important thing in the middle of all the chaos. Now he has to learn to open his life to someone new while helping his Clan Leader keep history from repeating itself.
Author’s Note:A huge THANK YOU to BJ Jones for allowing me to play in her ‘verse over at Sylum Clan. THANK YOU to Taibhrigh for the terrific banner art for my Sylum stories.

Crazy Horse dreamed and went into the world where there is nothing but the spirits of all things. That is the real world that is behind this one, and everything we see here is something like a shadow from that one
Black Elk, Black Elk Speaks
Modern man, I dutifully noted, is in search of a soul, and the age is an age of longing.
Theodore Roszak, Where the Wasteland Ends
Perhaps the reason some of us are feeling a sense of loss and longing is that we are, as Black Elk informs us, living in the shadow world. Our reality on this side may only be the fleeting ghosts of a place that is more real somewhere else. On this side we have broken our commitment to the earth and have unsouled ourselves from the wilderness. By the first century CE, the essayist Plutarch was asking, “Why is it that the gods are no longer speaking to us?”
For a long time now, we have been trying to create a new and different image of ourselves. It is an image where modern humanity is placed at the center of its own universe. We learn by observing, probing, experimenting, and finally dissecting and destroying the dynamic world we live within. From this, the modern mind started to develop a new reality for itself.
The collective reality in which we now reside does not take kindly to opposing perspectives. We have inherited an alienated consciousness that views the world as an outside entity – a world of objects that move in mechanical motion. This alienated consciousness has substituted the enchantment and mystery of living within a dynamic and animated world with a dream of the artificial, and ultimately the unreal. The modern landscape is now more scattered with administration than adventure. The central image of our modern age has been that of consumerism: the ability of the average person to buy the material goods they require in order to have a decent standard of living. A standard of living albeit promoted to us through our mainstream media and glamorous propaganda.
Only recently have some of us come to realize that consumerism has now become a contemporary form of crash therapy for unsatisfied people wanting to buy their way into happiness to escape from the very system they are simultaneously supporting. The easy acquisition of things has become more about trying to cover up anxiety as a substitute for contentment. Modern life, especially in the highly-developed West, is now rife with people parading their false selves in place of authenticity.
The modern history of the West has been about the removal of mystery, mind, and magic from the world around us. In the past there were realms of wilderness that existed outside of the social order, and each culture had these ‘wild zones’ where people danced with the little folk in the woods, undertook initiations in caves, circles, and hard-to-find corners. There were pagan rituals, crazy ecstasies, and unknown zones where primal energies were released. These were the places of wilderness, where dreamtime reigned, and clock-time was banned. And now these wild places are fewer and fewer as a new ‘reality order’ becomes the manifesto of the day. Now it is many of us who are feeling haunted. We have lost the presence of the ‘transcendent’ within our modern societies.
We must now recognize that something has happened – a break, a mutation, has occurred that has placed us in an ‘intermediate’ stage between eras. Modern life is being not so much rewritten as reconfigured. We are seeing odd things occurring in relation to time, speed, and distance. It’s as if right now the clock, and our sense of timing, is malfunctioning. This ahistorical period is out of time, until it resets itself. And here, the possibility of transcendence lingers like a phantasma.
We are in a time of carnivalesque distortion where ‘fast food’ is a parody of our normal food preparation and consumption; mediatized sport is a spectacle of its original form; and the music industry is one huge commercial carnival that mocks genuine creativity. In the pop music industry, the spectacle, the live show – the ‘carnival performance’ – is often more important than the actual merit of the song (even when the performer mimes, as they often do). We are in a different world right now – or at least a seemingly different reality.
In this new world of different relations, symbols, and meanings we have become unmoored from our harbors. We are talking about the fractal, the quantum, the molecular, the nano, the bots, artificial intelligence, and the singularity – yet we find we have no soulful connection with any of these terms or their significances. Perhaps we have entered a void-time.
Dan Hutson was my father-in-law. He treasured his time as a Boy Scout leader, and told many stories about my husband as a teenager.
Philmont “77” A Poem by Charles “Danny” Hutson
This poem was written by my father in 1977 which was the year me and him had the adventure of a lifetime for a father and son.
My older brother and I were both in the local Boy Scout troop and our father was the Scoutmaster for many years. It was a wonderful arrangement between a father and his sons.
It got even better when I decided to follow in my older brothers footsteps and go to the “high adventure camp” known as Philmont that the Boy Scouts had created in northeastern New Mexico.
During the last training week I attended in northern Virginia one of the leaders had to drop out of the trip and my father was asked if he would be interested.
Of course he said yes and the rest is history.
This poem tells a story. It is…
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