Mid-Week Words

Journal, entry dated 2/5/14-
The only way to prove it is with progress and success.
Honor the mistake as much as the victory. Take time when needed, but don't waste it when it is not.
One word and one swing of the hammer at a time.

from the Sigil of Azazel-
Eve was stubborn to the point of foolishness, and cunning to the point of something which most would regard as slightly less than human, though as Azazel exhaled the smoke from his tired lungs, he wondered if that trait was learned over time. He was crushing the still burning end of his cigarette between this thumb and forefinger at the thought of it, the flesh of his finger tips turning black and sizzling while it extinguished.

David may have been doubtful, and Phenex may have been hesitant, but Azazel was not. From the moment she surprised him with an elbow to the ribs and took off like a hell hound after a fresh death, he knew that Eve Spellmeyer was the single most infuriating and terrifying human being he had ever met.

Mid-Week Words

from the Journal, entry dated 1.29.14-
I was reminded as I made a complete and utter mess out of myself that I should go with my instincts, because nine times out of ten they will not lead you wrong.
That's what I love about witchcraft. The teachings of responsibility and the importance of knowing yourself.
The year is off to a trudging start, but I am proud of myself regardless. Ideas flow and consume, are born and take flight every single day.

from L.A.P. Book 1, opening chapter-

"Lily, you can't do this. You have to walk away. They will kill you, please, you don't want this Lily. You don't."

He was already on the pleading stage of bargaining as my heart beat raced. His voice usually resorted to begging when my heart beat raced too quickly from resting to holy shit active. This was a normal fear response for someone with my condition. I was not supposed to operate heavy machinery, or drive within a few hours of an episode if possible. I followed the rules. I also went out hunting for monsters every single night.

This was not part of the rules. 

Mid-Week Words

It's been a crazy past few weeks, and with nine days in a row of article writing I simply haven't had a moment to post, for after the end of a day of writing, the last thing I feel like doing is being on the computer for a moment longer. I was fortunate enough that my first day off today the weather was nice enough to get outside. I left the house at 1pm and didn't come in till the sun began to hang low and my fingers were too cold to grip the hoop properly. 

The words are slow these days, but they are trudging along! I actually have three different series getting active again all at once, so it's been messy, but here's a few snippets to satisfy your curiosity. 

from the Journal, entry dated Jan. 2. 2014-

Till this day, it pains me how little how I truly know about him, when he knows so much about me. Its how I've always been in relationships. I read off the warning label quickly and with brute force, because I have always viewed myself as some inhuman terror of metaphysical energy issues and insanity who would rather be working alone than in the company of most people.
Its time I stopped.
I don't need to show my worst cards at the first hand, or even the fifth. I am not a monster who needs to be quarantined away in a separate dating pool. I can take my time and be more careful. I can choose to ask questions for everyone I answer, if not more so.
I can choose to level the playing field.

from somewhere within The Little Red Notebook-
"Luke, I need you to listen, before we do this,"
"Dan, don't. We are not discussing that now."
"No, Luke, its important-"
"Dan, I already know! I-"
"to grab my gym bag out of the trunk?"
Luke blinks.
"Why-"
"Just do it!"
He does. Dan's coughing up blood and doesn't have time to explain that its necessary to back up whatever story he figures out when his brain has enough blood in it to think straight.
"How long do I have?"
"A few hours, maybe. One of your ribs-"
"But if you do it?"
"It would have to be now or never."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay."
Luke nods, and Dan can't see well enough to make out any expression, if the guy has a discernible one at all.
"Okay."

New Words for the New Year

I know its been ages since I've composed one of these, and while I am wishing everyone a happy New Year, to me getting the year started off in the best way possible means sticking to good habits, and one of those is posting in this lovely blog of mine on the regular, and to that point I give you the very first Mid Week Words of 2014.

from the Journal, entry dated Jan. 1. 2014-

Its a beautiful day to ring in the New Year. The sun is shining, the crows are chuckling, and the kitchen table is full of new merch for the store, setting in epoxy just waiting to be blessed and photographed. The moon is even new. Its as if for the first time I can remember, my pagan calender of old and the Gregorian of common use are actually lining up together to start again.

from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter 8-

He did not even bother stepping out of the car when he pulled the luxurious machine into his personal parking space at the MDA Apartment Complex in the heart of the Loop. Azazel simply took a breath, pausing to breathe in deeply, and when the air was leaving his lungs again he was standing in a subway station not far from Eve's school. It was as worrisome as it was enraging. The commander of the Ward had a sickening feeling that it was the same line Eve would have taken home this evening if he had not interfered. There was a stench in the air that humans would mistake for trash or decay if they could smell it. Azazel followed it into the darkness down the track. Here there were no lights, only the underground darkness of moldy, rat infested subway tunnels. 

“Kochbiel?” Azazel asked the darkness, and the darkness answered.

“I am here, sir,” the darkness spoke, a ball of golden light taking shape to illuminate his blood-stained figure. There were other ways to see in the darkness, but they were beyond the capacity of the soldier’s mediocre family line. He was not the most powerful, Kochbiel, but he was smart and he was trust worthy, and those were qualities far more rare and valued in the current dwindling state of his kind. His skin held just enough color and tone to pass for human, and his pale blonde hair was cut close to the scalp, to keep from helping the enemy or hindering himself in battle. His eyes were the inky black pools long ago accustomed to frequent total darkness that could occur at any moment, and often did, in the impoverished regions of their country beneath the dirt. Kochbiel had fought by Azazel’s side and under his orders since the very start of the civil war. 

“I moved the body out of sight here, but I knew you would want it handled yourself, sir.”

Azazel nodded, taking the light from his hands, holding the incorporeal orb aloft to see the remains. And they were just that, the remains of what little was left. 

Mid-Week Words

Sorry for the lack of a weekend witchcraft post gang. I seem to have been caught in a flurry of new-found friends, work, and Nano and may have forgotten the world beyond those things for a little while. But alas, words have still been happening, as they always do, so here is what I've concocted up while I've been away...

from the Journal, entry dated Nov. 6th 2013-
It's time to keep moving.
In the next few months, I am contemplating the idea of adding more to my plate. Wing chun & tai chi with college classes.
I want to apply this winter to the University of Southern Connecticut and begin getting my MLS degree.
The days are growing shorter, and the cold winds feel like a command, the trees cracking together the march of approaching battle.
The schedule is my strategy, and learning to stick firmly to it my training in combat.

from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter 4-
There were only two theories that could explain this impatience, Eve thought. Either the Ward were so few in number that his recruits could be counted on one or two hands entirely, or they simply caught them early, brainwashed them since childhood to simply accept and trust their existence. Or both, which was a simply terrifying thought, because how then had they only found her until now? Eve went to prod him again, as if in doing so she could force her mind to make a distinct and reasonable choice between defining him as reality or fantasy, but Azazel caught it in his own before the pale digit could land on its intended target, the center of his chest, where one's heart should be.

Mid-Week Words

from the Journal, entry dated Oct. 29th 2013-
Its so easy to get comfortable, so comf that you often forget what you have.
It came to me relaxing on the couch Sunday afternoon, blister on my hand ripped open from steaming the house, laughing at Tuscany's confusion from wet carpets, reading a book from the local library, taking in the fruits of my cleaning efforts, that this is my home.
And for once, it feels like home.
I love my little town. I love the petting zoo at the end of my road, the park at the other, the ancient and beautiful Pine Grove Cemetery, the unique and richly detailed homes of the historic district, and the winding roads around the pond. I had to take a moment to walk around my apartment and take it all in, remember the story of these pieces of my life and how they got there. The couch from a curb in Fitchburg, the cabinets and desk from my grandparents, the vintage 50's coffee table from my father. When you dont make a lot of money, you don't often buy furniture, so much as acquire interesting pieces over time. Honestly, I enjoy it so  much more than a trip to a furniture shop. Here, everything has its own story, from the kitchen chairs Dad and I reupholstered, to the mattress I currently sleep on.
And I do so love to tell a good story.

from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter 4-
The day was not made any brighter by the early afternoon hour. Eve stepped outside to a sky void of sunlight, choked up with an endless grey mass, not so much clouds as one great hulking monster of one, dimming the world so much that cars night time lights were automatically flaring to life. She had to be careful not to step too close to the curb as cars roared past, throwing the water gathered on the streets edge in great, bone chilling arcs. It was one of those days where it seemed impossible to be raining, to be warm enough not to freeze, and yet there it was. A few lamps in the shadows of the taller skyscrapers in this block were even flickering to life, illuminating the impossibly deep pools of water.

Mid-Week Words

from the Journal, entry dated Oct. 15 2013-
I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship yet, and the idea of dating is still oh so sickeningly dull and passionless that the word tastes stale on my tongue, but I no longer feel as if I or anything else is holding me back from the possibility. I feel open to it. I don't feel as if I'm hiding my healing wounds anymore. I feel free. And as if I am personally and spiritually moving towards a great and indescribable something.
If there was a time when someone wanted me in their lives, now would be the time to act. For right now I am experiencing something most remarkable, something passionate and wild and thrilling, and I would love nothing more then to share it with the right person.
Don't wait or hesitate, the sun, the moon, and the stars do not. The shifting seas do not pause, and neither do I.

from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter 4-
"The girl," Charron croaked, sputtered a cough, and continued, "she's been taken." He straightened himself upright, but Charron was always hunched, the demeaning stance of one who had spent a lifetime cowering to others. Cowering was a good way to stay alive in the service of elders of high rank for as long as possible. "The police have her for questioning, no one can get to her without exposure."
Azazel snarled, nearly throwing the expensive smokes across the room, but he thought better of it, held his face with his free hand as if he could shove common sense and something like humanity into it by sheer force of will alone. "And David?"
"No word for the past four hours. Kochbiel searched his home and found nothing."
No word since they lost track of Abadon. Azazel abandoned his smoke, and stalked off to the bedroom to peel off his wrinkled suit for something with less bloodstains. Though he hardly saw the point. With David gone, and most likely dead, the demon disguised as a man was certain that the olive trousers and navy dress shirt, along with his warmest charcoal wool coat, would suffer the same fate once the day was through. He knotted his scarf too tightly, and slammed the door on his way out, because teleporting into a police station was unwise at the very least.

Mid-Week Words

from the Journal, entry dated Oct. 8th 2013-
I walk in the stars and feel the songs in my chest, the rhythms resonate in my bones, and the chords go straight to the marrow.
The night skies are alight as my boots kick up the leaves, and the sweet, oaky scent of decay seduces my senses, as rare and perfect as the aroma of a well-loved and pleasantly aged text. Something dances in the spaces between flesh and bone, my skin shivering pleasantly as thoughts waltz and ideas sway with the moon and tide.

from somewhere within the Daniel Thompson series-

Dan parked the car at the head of the path, and even this far from the crime scene, he was having reservations. His Nope alarm was already screaming at a ‘Aw Hell No’ just at the sight of the dead forest. A cold wind howled through the dead branches, making them creak and sway, sounding like a voice, the creepiest goddamn voice, beckoning him to enter the wood, and despite the fact that every cop car was long since gone, he still had the feeling he was being watched.

"Shut the fuck up Danny," he muttered to himself, sneakers squelching in the mud of the season, "This is not a horror movie, there are no voices on the goddamn wind, get a fucking grip."

He walked down the trail, and hoped whatever he found didn’t scar him for life or cause him to lose his lunch. Everything was still dead and decaying, the ecosystem waiting for the first warm spring day to wake the woods up again.

Danny comforted himself by pretending this was a LARP, and the gaze he felt on the back of his neck was really just a game-maker monitoring for fair play.

Mid-Week Words

from the Journal, entry dated Oct. 2nd 2013-
There is an old saying that if you stare into the abyss, it will stare back into you.
It used to cause me anxiety, and fear. For what if I am all too like the darkness?
Now when I recall those words, I smile. Because the darkness will blink first, because I don't blink, motherfucker, and you should have known that. And I will laugh, and I will keep on living.
To me, that's growing up.
Life is too short to live in fear. Its too brief to hesitate, too impulsive to pause, and too fleeting to delay.
And for those of you who still cling to the past like a bottle of your favorite mind-numbing concoction, I only hope you can wake up before it's too late.

from The Sigil of Azazel, chapter 4-
"You've only just turned 18 Ms. Spellmeyer, do you understand what that means?" the Detective asked, leaning in close as if she were talking to a child. So close that Ever was certain the camera couldn't see her smile, which did not look like anything that should belong on the face of one so sworn to uphold the law.
"I do," Eve answered.
She understood that the Oscars would fight until she was wrongly convicted. She understood that she would be tried as an adult. She also understood that the only evidence they had was entirely circumstantial, and as such she had every right to get the fuck out of there.

Mid-Week Words

from the Journal, 9/14 and 9/18-
'This year has been messy, chaotic, and at times nearing disaster. And yet, I wouldn't change a moment of it. It feels full and well-spent. 2013 feels like the year I came back to life.
There are pages in this journal that are dark & cruel, twisted and wrong, like a mangled car wreck, warped beyond recognition. But they are mine, and I wouldn't trade them for a thing.
The air is getting colder, the nights shorter, and my friends fewer. Yet I've never felt more light and alive.'

from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter four-
Eve Spellmeyer sat down in the folding metal chair, lithe and poised. Detectives Brett and Young informed her that someone would be along to talk to her shortly.
"Can I know what this is about?"
Detective Brett looked at Detective Young, and closed the door behind them, the tumblers locking into place.
The girl in questioning pushed a long, slender hand through her cropped, dark hair, sections of it still frozen together. She resisted the urge to rub her eyes and make the contact lens irritation behind her shades any worse. Eve had no idea what to think or believe, but she knew one thing for certain, and that was her own innocence. If she appeared distressed right now, it would only serve to seal her fate in their eyes.
Eve took a deep breath, and made a show of removing her shades to glare at the mirror, squinting up at the obnoxious florescent light, and putting the tinted lenses back over her eyes before the pain behind her eyes settled into a full-on migraine.

Mid-Week Words

I've lost count of how many times I've tried a posting schedule. Honestly, my life is not a stable thing at all this year, its ever turbulent, and I'm quite happy with that. But words are a constant, in any shape and form, words are always happening. I won't trouble you with any from work, unless you want a lecture about optical care or proper dental hygiene, but I would like to reveal bits of myself through my works and my thoughts.

from the Journal, entry dated 8/9/2013-
I wanted to leave because I felt as if I had nothing left but ghosts haunting my walls. 
But maybe not.
My personal spirits are like those of reality - they can only enter if I allow them. Lately, I have been, but I don't have to.
I can banish them if I please.

from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter 4-
"Who is it this time?"
"Abadon."
Azazel's head drew back, fists clenched as his muscles grew tight, and his breathing seemed to stop as his brilliant mind tried in vain to assess the situation, but it could not divine a solution, only a terrible chill which seemed to sink deep into his ancient bones. 
"When? How?"
"An hour ago, at most," the Satan spoke, lips closing together in a thin, pale line as he rose from his throne and lead the way to the Northern passage, the perfectly smooth stone narrowing as it curved higher towards the surface, small lanterns of yellowing light dotting their otherwise unmarred surface. 
"As for how," Lucifer continued, pausing to cough as a cold breeze whipped through the air around them, causing the lights to flicker. Azazel's gait paused at what to most would have been a harmless chill, but the Fell was not like most places. For one, it existed entirely and self-sustainably below surface. There were no cold breezes. As they moved further up the ascending path, the temperature dropped further still, and the Duke of the Fell growled lightly in disgust as he was forced to put the scarf, still tacky with incubus blood, over his nose and mouth to ward off the toxic air. Lucifer turned towards the gates of the high security section, his hand holding the sleeve of his robe in a similar fashion. 
They stopped at the cell that had once been marked with the Sigil of Abadon. The door was gone, as was much of the cell, and the stone above it.
Lucifer coughed again before he finished, "he seems to have gone up."Azazel had witnessed many break outs, and they had always involved the use of a door. Because above them was not only hundreds of feet of natural stone bedrock, but the toxic remains of what had once been the home to an immortal race. Azazel could see the sky for the first time in two millenia. It burned red with no oxygen to sustain it, clouds the poisonous yellow of sulfur. The next moment, it was gone. Azazel blinked, only now realizing that he and his King were surrounded by Moloch, the Jailer, and Panem, the lead Architect, as well as their dozen or so underlings. The hole was patched and sealed before Azazel had even noticed they were working, and it was a sight he was glad to be rid of.