Anti-Poet Extraordinaire + META-Fiction Aficionado. Here for my favorite bands and brands; representing them with a pen sharper than any sword.
There weren't always dragons in the Valley of Ataúd. In fact, when refugees from the recently defunct Sol system arrived on Draco Prime it'd been more or less a barren wasteland bereft of all but the hardiest flora and scantiest fauna. It took several centuries of laborious effort to finally terraform the landscape by employing aqueducts that redirected myriad streams through the mountains from a few faroff rivers. It was also how long it took for excavations beneath the planet's surface to yield the first vestiges of a bygone civilization that far outpaced humanity's plodding progress through the cosmos.
Bunker Rock Reviews: Anomalous Materials
Release Date: January 28, 2022 Last time on BRR, Yours Truly had the pleasure of reviewing an indie EP released by one Drew Haze. Today, Obsidian Eagle is pleased to appraise a full length LP produced by longtime songsmith Liam King. As always OE's intention is to tip off readers regarding nouveau soundscapes that make for good listening when you're hunkering down in the bunker during the post-apocalypse era, or really, whenever!
The Monkey's Uncle
Author's Note: This story is a continuation from The Lion's Mane. Although our flight was headed for Southern Spain, the airplane touched down in Gibraltar international airport, which is properly British territory. We walked across the tarmac and checked in at customs, then headed straight to the Mediterranean steps, where Zoraya and I were met by Captain Falco and a dozen more Knights of Verona. They all wore stylish suits that gleamed like steeled armor in the August sunlight. Their sidearms were subtly concealed, yet visible to a discerning eye. I myself had managed to get my trusty Estoc through the aforementioned checkpoint, on account of it being considered an antique. Zoraya's vintage pistolet also fell into that category; she now removed it from its wooden box and holstered it. We would appear to be mere LARPers to any casual onlooker.
The Lion's Mane
Author's Note: This short story is a continuation of The Bronze Setter. It had been about two months since I'd gotten my hair trimmed by Falco back in The Bronze Setter. The sword duel mid the garden behind the barber shop had been such a surreal experience that I almost believed I dreamt the whole thing. However, if I ever needed a reminder that it had really happened, I didn't have to look any further than my bathroom mirror. Every morning after I awoke, my pompadour seemed to have grown more voluminous than before. That coiffure made me look so crazed that I routinely got called out to fight in public places. I'm not sure why exactly, but perhaps it was my hairdo's passive air of pomposity that set some people off rather violently! Very soon I began losing count of how many challengers I had to put in their place with the butt of my trusty Estoc. Although as Falco predicted, I didn't even have to draw the blade from its scabbard.
The House These Words Built
"The words you speak become the house you live in." ~ Hafiz Someday in the distant future, it might be said that the books I wrote resemble a majestic mansion ensconced amidst bucolic pastures. Oh yes, educated folks will come from far and wide to gawk at the palatial splendour of this metaphoric estate. Don't believe me, do you?
Tome of The Sixth Sun
During the last couple of years, Obsidian Eagle has been working on the third book of his Lunacy Trilogy. It's still a work in progress but it's already running longer than either one of its predecessors. Up until now, I've been releasing it chapter by chapter, exclusively on Medium. However, there's no reason to limit my readership, so I'm going to start republishing it here quite soon. But before I do, I'd like to explain a few key features showcased by this new fiction series.
The Cricket's Call
In the midst of all the heat lately, an old memory resurfaced concerning our diminutive friend, the common cricket. It's little-known nowadays, but various ancient cultures seem to have held this critter in rather high regard. I first became aware of that fact when I stumbled across the following passage written by a modern mystic (Samael Aun Weor):
The Codex Cube
As any seasoned writer worth their salt can tell you, one's muse may at times manifest itself as nothing less than an incurable madness. Such was the case with my second book. Despite being well aware that no publisher would ever want to pick it up, and although I knew beforehand that few readers were going to be able to slog through its incessant tomfoolery, I insisted not only on writing the damn thing—but even worse—I paid to self-publish it!