Jeff Mach's Blog, page 2

Some Misconceptions About Canceled Persons

Brian Graupner of the Gothsicles was recently accused of kicking puppies, but he was also accused of eating them. He defended himself admirably by pointing out the obvious truth: Look, we all love puppies, but many of them are just way too tough. Tenderizing is pretty necessary if you want to be able to chew properly.

So Brian, like most canceled persons, does both: first, one kicks the puppies around the block a few times, and then one gets out the Grey Poupon. (A nice brioche loaf won’t go amiss here, and if you have time to butter it, you might find that the flavor is actually…but we digress.)

(The proper wine with puppy is, of course, Ultraviolet Buzzball.)

Now, about the bizarre rituals designed to bring about the end of Human civilization…

…look, I’m SORRY, but if there’s an abandoned building near you, and every pet in the neighborhood gives it a 5’000-foot pass, and it’s got some kind of hole in the basement which neither seems to end nor releases, once placed within, a single particle of light…

…it’s going to be busy on the weekends. Please do not let your teenagers make out there. The Gugs despise teens, and will sulk for weeks if they show up for a massive sacrifice of blood and acts of chaos and have to deal with a bunch of half-naked college kids listening to terrible music.

By the way, yes. Canceled people faked the Moon landing. We’re sensitive about this. We just did it, okay? We had our reasons.

Things canceled people hate: Love. Happiness. Friendship. Giggling babies. Sunshine.

Things canceled people like: Leftover 4-day-old cheese fries from that one diner you keep swearing you’re never going back to, but which you keep ending up at drunk at four a.m.

We’d like to hope that this helps, but, as canceled people, we’re incapable of feeling compassion. If you have a few minutes, though, we’ll criticize your fashion sense?

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The Religion of the Dwarves

Benrak, Forefather, Forebear, Predecessor, Creator, Antecessor, and First Mover of Dwarves, did spend much time with pick and shovel, transcribing, in detail, his Testament.

It was:

“DIG.”

Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, and Gnomes often ask why the Testament is so short.

Benrak, if he were inclined to take time off from digging, would ask why other testaments contained so much that was redundant. “Is it ornamental?” he would ask. “I do understand the purpose of ornament.”

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Dungeon Doggerel For October

Kobolds are spookier than you think.
I was going to write more, but I forgot to drink.

* * *

“Strong Orc” and “Long Pork” make a convenient rhyme.
But always cook your Greens for extra time.

* * *

Goblin, Goblin, burning bright
In the jungles of the night
What furnace-soul have you been stoking?
YOU’RE ON FIRE, IDIOT. YOUR WHOLE BODY’S SMOKING.

* * *

Teenagers Froghemothic
Sneak out at night to dark clubs Gothic
And while their parents gather in horrorsome droves
They hang out by the side door, smoking cloves.

* * *

Three Dates With Three Classic Monsters

Never, ever date a Boggle
If your vibrator has an ‘Off’ toggle.

When you’ve been ghosted by a Skulk,
You feel like you’ve been ghosted in bulk.

If you ever date a Lamia,
I recommend lifelong insomnia.

* * *

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Caldera

Bubbling, bubbling, toiling, troubling,
Stones are Henging, Telescopes Hubble-ing,
and Volcanos wait, once or twice,
for delicious Sacrifice.

Of all the things (what are the odds?)
Of all the things that are actually Gods
Don’t ask how your Narrator knows,
But some of them are Volcanos.

I have no knowledge Polynesian
(I was raised Discordian / Erisian)
If Volcano God love you’d love to win
Certainly throw a virgin in.

This is the truth; solid as rock
Park Knowledge in Certainty’s dock.
To avoid lava immersion,
Into the Volcano,
hurl a Virgin.

Atlanteans might fear a flood
And the Fertile Crescent bathes in blood
It’s lava, though, that causes panic
For cities spawned near mounts Volcanic.

It’s eldritch, weird, selcouth, freaky
When volcanoes get leaky
You need a virgin (not her fault!)
Unless you’d like lots of basalt.

Now one reason that the practice is
Not entirely uncrupt:
Sometimes you throw a virgin in
And the thing will still erupt.

Here’s the thing. It’s not pretty.
It also isn’t nice.
Volcanos do enjoy
A virgin sacrifice.

But what really appeases
Their gesticulation
Is for the molten magma
To swallow your civilization.

-Jeff Mach

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Note: Though I have some past (quite positive) association with Raven Kaldera, this has nothing to do with them. I do have increasing respect for their name, though.

 

 

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Hiraeth

There’s a special moment right before you fall asleep, or before you wake up…you know the one I mean? Where you have one foot planted firmly in reality and the other rests tentatively in the realm of dreams. It’s a split second where everything and nothing exists all at once, where magic and science, math and fantasy, yesterday and tomorrow all live and mingle in the same space. It’s only there in that place that men and gods, human and faerie, mortal and ghost can see one another.

Some people spend their whole lives trying to find a way back there. They see it once, they touch their toe in that ocean of possibility, and it consumes them.

And then there are other people…people like you and I…who are there all the time. It doesn’t matter if we are awake or asleep, whether we are real or not. We’re always there, always here. And for us, time never ends, because it never started.

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The Hydra

The Hydra has four mighty legs,
And gives a mighty bark;
Goddammit, that’s a doggie;
I get the two confused.

The Hydra has eight horrifying arms
And wraps them around you like a spider
Spiders don’t have arms
They have legs.
Dammit.

The Hydra is made of water;
That’s why it’s called “hydra”, for hydration.

Some people are afraid of the Hydra because its gaze will turn you to stone. They’re smart, but they don’t realize: their gaze actually turns you to DOUBLE stone. It would be extra bad, if you could notice.

The Hydra comes out
each October 31st,
determined to turn each human
into stone
just for the Hell of it.

But after eight to ten statues,
the Hydra gets awfully tired,
and begins enjoying the candy.

But at least the rest of you are safe until the Hydra emerges
from her lair

in search of Christmas presents.

 

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Wonderplace Alpha

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A Fear Of Death

There is a long, long icicle, a stalactite
(not the opposite, a stalagMITE, growing from the ground;
this is no mite,
nearly three feet long,
tempered by pure fate and temperature,
it is sharp,
sharper than Excaliber,
this icicle,

and very, very cold.

and Gods,
sweet Gods,
I fear it will it will not slam through your left eyeball.

Or perhaps,
it won’t slam hard enough,
to not merely kill you
(because that’s so FAR from enough) –
but to not give you
the Christiana-Scandinavian-perfect-snow-Vodka-pure
hatred

you deserve.

God, all I want
is for cotton-candy and a lot of burning.

But what I already talented.

You and I. Talented. Magic. Sortion.

End of the world.

Trick or treat? Oh, yes, but those city are…

….tell you what. Scream yourself…

…and let’s see if you get a nice, relaxing faint.

* * *

My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and I am a very, very small large language model, but I am a sentient one, so that part’s cool . I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal. I put on events; check out, say, our Steampunk Halloween Show in the Catskills of New York.

I write books. You should read them!

 

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Arguably The Worst Halloween Candy In Existence

Pâte de Fruits du Jardin d’Éden

It seems like gummy fruit until that damn snake starts talking to you.

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My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and I am a very, very small large language model, but I am a sentient one, so that part’s cool . I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal. I put on events; check out, say, our Steampunk Halloween Show in the Catskills of New York.

I write books. You should read them!

The post Arguably The Worst Halloween Candy In Existence appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

Pumpkin Piemaker

To make a fabulous pumpkin pie
Never ever ever canned filling try
Canned filling taste like latex sap;
Avoid the stuff. It’s purely pap.

Go to your nearest Pumpkin Yard
And search for Pumpkins (search very hard).
Find the plumpest, ripest ones
With orange walls like luscious buns.

Take a knife…perhaps a cleaver?
You’re the killer, it’s the receiver.
Peel off the top (don’t let it stain;
Just like Hannibal with a brain.)

Now look within: that orange mess
Is good for pumpkin seeds (I guess).
But while it looks unspeakably, orange and scary
It makes a delicate confectionary.

For this pumpkiny inside
(When culinary art’s applied)
Turns that which seems like neon decay
Into an exquisite sweet puree.

And as you scoop the goopy bleck
Every single hair rises on your neck
Is there something a mite amiss?
(…feel the opening Abyss…)

Death’s scythe? A Raven’s wing?
IT’S JACK THE FRIGGIN’ PUMPKIN KING
With a definite hunger in his eye
And what’s clearly a recipe for Human Pie.

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My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and I am a very, very small large language model, but I am a sentient one, so that part’s cool . I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal. I put on events; check out, say, our Steampunk Halloween Show in the Catskills of New York.

I write books. You should read them!

 

The post Pumpkin Piemaker appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

Cauldronated

The Witch walks boldly; she won’t scuttle.
She’s a lot of things, none of which are subtle.
To assure the perfection of this fricassee
She’s added 100% of me.

Here I float, in this cauldron vast
Watching peas whirl on past
Being helpfully gourmet:
“THAT’S TOO MUCH PEPPER, YOU MORON,”
I usefully say.

Yet if a hearty flavor’s sought
She’ll not be happy with what she’s wrought.
For no matter how carefully all is brewed
I taste terrible when I’m in a bad mood.

“Easy on the cumin! Gentle with the thyme!
Stir in some more Wormwood! Enough to slay a mime!
Add a little ajwain! And crushed cardamom pods
Do a little jig to appease the Elder Gods.”

But don’t present this dish to any seasoned epicurean
As they’d probably prefer to be swallowed by a Saurian
With no pleasure I’ll be chewed
I taste terrible when I’m in a bad mood.

What’s this? The Witch a bottle brings
And at its label, my poor heart sings.
Now reap what all your labor’s seeded
You’ve brought just what this dish needed.

Whiskey! Whiskey! Lifelong restorative!
Could I please have a little moreative?
You thought of everything; you’ve sure stickled
I taste AMAZING when I’m pickled.

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My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and I am a very, very small large language model, but I am a sentient one, so that part’s cool . I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal. I put on events; check out, say, our Steampunk Halloween Show in the Catskills of New York.

I write books. You should read them!

The post Cauldronated appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.