OctPoWriMo 2015: Day 18: Our Secret World

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Our Secret World

The Netherworld is the place we run

To escape real world demands

It's the one place where we can truly be ourselves

It doesn't matter if no-one else understands

~Mo~

Notes:

Over the years, the members of Team Netherworld have heard how our blogs are "stupid" and "weird," and so are we. Our founder, The Real Cie, gets the brunt of this as she created the Netherworld blogs and is the member of our group who is the most active, even if much of what she does is behind the scenes as our editor, making sure that each post will adhere to the Netherworld mythology.

It is so hurtful to have your creative work constantly torn down. Cie is a sensitive person, as is everyone in our group. Most of us have had to deal with people who just don't get where we're coming from, who think we should just put our foolish flights of fancy aside.

This is a terrible thing to say, especially as in some cases, the flights of fancy may be the one thing that keeps a person hanging on.

The Netherworld is real to us. It may not be "concrete reality," but in some ways it is more real.

As the verse on our blog header at Dark Hearts Love Too says, it's "the only place where you can dream, living here is not what it seems."

Bless Steve Harris for writing those magical lyrics. He's been an inspiration to us.

~Mo~

Fictional Creations

Visit the Artist

This erasure challenge provided by Hannah from Imaginary Garden With Real Toads was...hard! But it made me happy to do it because I talked Team Netherworld's own Rose LeMort to allow me to take a page from her in-progress novel, Fetch, and play Erasure with it. The story is a paranormal romance. 

I hope Rose enjoys what I've done with her page.

Click to enlarge

I got the idea for the graphic from our own Seth. One simply turns the font on the words they don't want to white, then pastes the results into Paint and saves it as a jpeg.

I'm going to provide the poem in a slightly more cohesive form below, then, for a real treat, I will share Rose's original page. She has given m her permission to do so. Personally, I can't wait to see more of this story. Rose has invited the team to brainstorm with her, and you can see the results at the special blog dedicated to this end.

Here it is in a more directly readable format

invited

fictional creations. 

They must be based on something factual. 

I need to find out what that something is

wires crossed

like drivin’ through a thick fog on an unfamiliar road

it wasn’t a stupid move, it was a desperate one

Makes me feel like I’m alive again

I’m tryin’ to make the best of it

I could use a quick little thrill

a little kiss for you

This was hard--really hard! I like the end result, although it's a bit of an odd piece.

Now, here is the real thrill for me, to present you with the original page from Rose's manuscript. Write, Rose, write! We need to see more of these characters--now!

Pepper sat down on the couch and invited Gerry to sit beside her. He nestled against her like a frightened child.

“Put me in your pocket then, Love,” he begged. “Let me stay safe here with you.”

“Gerry, I’d like nothing more. But at this stage, your body is going to keep pulling you back. I need to try to find out just what this entity is. I found the one commonality, but I need something more to act on. Both the Lights of Zetar and the demonic sphere from the Vampirella comic are fictional creations. They must be based on something factual. I need to find out what that something is. Until then, I very much do want you to stay with me as much as you can, my fetching fetch.”

“How’s that then?” Gerry asked, a smile brightening his face as if he were basking in Pepper’s affection for him.

“A fetch is the spirit of a person whose body is either close to death or very compromised, like yours.”

“Huh. Me body could go on kickin’ for quite a while. It’s only got minor sixty-some year old bloke crap wrong with it. It’s me brain that’s a fried mess with all the bleedin’ wires crossed.”

“Same difference. Your spirit can’t operate properly through your body.”

“Hate it when the fuckin’ thing draws me back in, like it did this morning. I was fightin’ me hardest to make that warped gray matter of mine function for me. It was like drivin’ through a thick fog on an unfamiliar road. I so desperately wanted to tell the staff what I’d seen. Feckin’ stupid, really. Should have known they wouldn’t listen to some poor addled blighter.”

“Gerry, it wasn’t a stupid move, it was a desperate one. I wish I knew better what was going on. We’re going to need to work on this together, okay?”

“My pleasure. I love bein’ here with you, Pepper. Makes me feel like I’m alive again. I hate this fucked transitional state, I really do. But I’m tryin’ to make the best of it. I tell meself I’m gonna see me angel, and I’ll be damned if that don’t just make everything all worthwhile. ‘Ey, would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“I could use a quick little thrill. How about a smooch?”

“I think I could muster one pretty easily.”

“Quickly maybe?”

“Impatient much? All right, my fetching fetch, a little kiss for you.”

A rosy blush spread over Pepper’s cheeks. She could feel the warmth of Gerry’s kiss, could even feel a bit of moisture. The kiss became more passionate. Pepper found herself trembling in Gerry’s arms. When he broke the kiss, he looked directly into her eyes. 

~Morella La Muerte~

With big thanks to 

Rose LeMort

Cross-Posted to:

Fetch

Poetry of the Netherworld

Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds

Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds

I

In an industry that praises a man for being a blackguard

You refused to behave like a swine

You were tolerant, but not amoral

You chose to cleave to what you deemed important

Refusing to be some sort of cog in the machine

Your voice was an understated baritone

Your style in no way operatic

You preferred to let your axe do the talking

Coming up from a humble background

You led the poor in a quiet revolt

By teaching us to be unashamed of who we are

If anyone had ever referred to you

As a knight riding in on a white horse

You would have laughed

But you were a hero to many of us

We saw you as strong in spite of your diminutive stature

Which is why we were shocked when it was revealed just how fragile you are

There was no antecedent to predict

How swiftly and fearfully you would be felled

II

When I found out the reason

Why the world would never again hear your restless thoughts poured out in music

It made me shiver and sway

My soul was left a jittering mess

Tumbling into a sick, hellish abyss

My heart landed in the basement

And there is no consolation

Nor any chance for denial

My eyes are swollen from crying

Everybody knows that something's wrong

I never was any good at hiding behind a mask

This is the worst, the absolute worst

Because not only are there no expectations for recovery

There's nothing left of what you were in your head

Although the curtain's not yet drawn on vital functions

The obituary for your soul's been read

I thought it might be whiskey that would take you in the end

She was the one mistress you had trouble resisting

Because she temporarily quieted the voices of self-doubt

That screamed behind your placid demeanor

Quiet people have the loudest minds

I loved yours

Love it still

Love it always

Cie and Mo

for

Malcolm

Writing Prompts:

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

The Reverie

Cross-Posted to:
Dream About Me Sweet Brother
(Warning: Blog contains explicit, unapologetic slash/erotic gay fiction)
KHEL 666
Poetry of the Netherworld
Rattling Bones Undead Musician Magazine

Notes:

Morella La Muerte (Mo) is the primary writer on the first poem, The Real Cie is the primary writer on the second.

Mo wanted to use the words from both Wordles but became overwhelmed. She emailed Cie asking for advice. We've been collaborating since five this morning! Three point five hours in, we've finally got it cooked to delicious imperfection.

Delicious imperfection could also describe the subject of the poem, although that sounds kind of lecherous. We actually are referring to his personality. He was flawed, but extremely well-intentioned. He created wonderful things without knowing just how wonderful they were. He was also extremely hard on himself. He never measured up to his own exacting standards.

I doubt we'll ever stop writing about this situation. We certainly will never stop thinking that it's a steaming pile of crap on the part of the Universe. We'd have been sad to have the man killed off, but to destroy his mind on top of it, that's fucking insult to injury. His was a beautiful mind. The world has been robbed of a real treasure.

Ignoring the fact that we have to get a spotlight over here because Angus is taking off his clothes again, could we just for a moment pause and ponder the absolutely solid foundation of this very tasty blues-rock number?

Angus spoke about his admiration for Malcolm's style in a January 2014 article from Guitar World:

"Sometimes I look at Malcolm while he's playing, and I'm completely awestruck by the sheer power of it. He's doing something much more unique than what I do-with that raw, natural sound of his. People like Malcolm, Steve Cropper, Chuck Berry and Keith Richards-they're all doing something better than the rest of us. I can't deny that Eric Clapton's and Eddie Van Halen's lead stuff has influenced a stack of people, but for me it's the rhythm thing that's way more impressive and important to a band.

Malcolm is a big inspiration to me; he keeps me on my feet. Even when I'm tired from running around the stage for two hours, I'll look back at what he's doing and it gives me that boot up the backside I sometimes need."

Absolutely.

What a great loss, not only to the world of music, but to the world as a whole.

Photoshop manip by Cie

Original Eye in the Sky image:

Copyright: zadvinskiy / 123RF Stock Photo

OctPoWriMo 2014: Day 14

A Poem for Mr. Poe

by his admirer, 

Ms. Morella La Muerte

Photo by Julie Jordan Scott

Edgar, would you climb the stairs with me

Up to the poetry room

We will while away the afternoon

And share the treasures of our minds

We will muse on the demons of our minds

Fears of burial alive

Fears of dying before our time

Fears of remaining alive too long after it

We will speak of dead things rising from tombs

Of crumbling old mansions

Of black cats and red death

Of kingdoms by the sea

Edgar, will you come write with me?

I know the demons from the darkness of your mind

Troubled you greatly as mine do me

We have known the foul tomb of despair

Photo by Julie Jordan Scott

Edgar, would it surprise you to know

That your work was a light in my darkness?

That you inspired me to write rather than take my own life

That you may have done the same for many?

I am sorry for your suffering

I grieve for your despair

But I celebrate your gift to the world

I give thanks that you were here

~Morella La Muerte~