Jeff Mach's Blog, page 3

Minimally Pleasant Doggerel

 

Welcome to the Matrix.
Please be a hero.
Find the damn code
And divide it by zero.

* * *

Don’t count your Dragons before they hatch.
The Red one, the Green one,
and the Purple One With Blue Stripes And Green Polka Dots That Comes Out Of That One Egge Which Was Clearly Tie-Dyed…
…are never gonna match.

* * *

Don’t wear a kilt upon your head
And gild it with sexy feathers.
For if you’ve a kilt upon your head,
What do you wear on your nethers?

* * *

When the mob speaks Economics,
I lift heavy flagons.
I’d rather hear Kobold cubs
Explain slaying Dragons.

* * *

Absinthe does not actually make you hallucinate.
Reality, however, is largely a hallucination.
That’s why it doesn’t make sense.
Absinthe doesn’t make it make sense.
But it does give it a reason to not make sense.

Which is oddly comforting.

* * *

This recipe needs lots of saffron –
Impractical, to be sure.
And who has 16 hours to spend
Roasting in the belly of a Sloar?

* * *

Unless I’m mislead,
You hate the undead,
and that might cause cacophony.

For you see,
Inside of me
(nakedly)
(secretly)
it’s quite skeletony.

___

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 Minimally Pleasant Doggerel appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

Witch and Bear & Other Stupid Poems

Said the Witch to her Ursine Companion:
“You can be direct. I don’t care.”
Said the other, “Thank you. I worry.
I don’t want to overbear.”

* * *

A Gelatinous Cube! Scary and bold!
…somebody fetch my Jello mold.

* * *

If your captors are Raptors, beware:
Though you see the one over here,
You don’t see the one over there.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGH–

* * *

Oh, Mind Flayer, Mind Flayer, Flayer of Minds
Overly dominant
But with great behinds.

___

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 Witch and Bear & Other Stupid Poems appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

Gremlins in the Mailing Room

Three PoemsThere are Gremlins in the Mail RoomAnd that would be disturbing;It’s with a certain challengeCertain panic I am curbing. There’s Gremlins in the mail roomThis lily I’m not gilding –As we’ve no kind of mailing roomAnywhere within the building.* * *So many OrcsSo little timeTo eat just SOMEWould be quite a crime.* * * *We’re Dwarves.We dig;We have something to dig for;how could anyonewant anymore?

___

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 Gremlins in the Mailing Room appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

A Magical Origin Story

The panel includes:

Cliandra, Incantantress Supreme of the Elves

Vlorthus. First Warlock of the Humans

Brukhty, Grand Sortilegian of the Orcs

Sam, The Weird Book Guy, Dwarf

Moderator: How did you get started in the magickal realms?

Cliandra: For seven thousand years, my line has studied the Arcanum. It is my destiny, my birthright, and my sacrifice that I bear within my mind the mystic secrets and the revelations whose knowledge is essential to the maintenance of our culture and ways. When I was born, upon my neck was placed a silver lock which symbolizes the responsibility which is mine alone.

Brukhty: We drew lots –

of fire,
caveback,
song,
and blood,

and then we fought,
I and the other little sisters,
matched by lot.

I and seven others
overcame the rest of our sisters,
and were sent to the Older Mother
to be taught.

Vlorthus: My parents were murdered by a Sorcerer whose might was so great he never even know the consequences of his spell. On that day, I vowed I would learn sorcery myself and defeat him. I sold our modest home and used the coins to enter the College of the Pineal Gland.

Sam: I had an excellent pickaxe. We worked an excellent mine. I was happy. There was a little library full of ancient books of sorcery; I passed its open archway every day on my way to the depths to dig. I found myself thinking about it, and the tomes within. One day, even though it was a lovely day at the mine, of a cool and pleasant temperature, and we’d just cracked into a lovely layer of tanzanite, I stopped in to have a closer look. I found the books interesting, and soon was taking five, even ten minutes a day off from mining just to look at the books. After about a week of this, my father sat me down. “Son,” he said. “Do you like the books more than mining?” “No!” I said. He nodded, put down his warhammer, and said, “But they’re okay?” “Yeah, I guess.” Then he handed me this staff and said, “Great. Nobody’s done any magic around here since the last one died, oh, when my Grandfather was a kid. Hope it’s, you know, useful for digging and such.” Then he took my lovely pickaxe and gave me this magic stick.

And here I am.

Anyone got a pickaxe?

___

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 A Magical Origin Story appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

Very Special Offers

WE HAVE LISTENED! Many of you contacted us via carrier pigeon, eldest sons bent on revenge, or the fevered pitch of screams torn from human voices never intended to endure torment of this demonic monstrousness, to inform us that you would rather stop having one-third of your dreams divert you away from the arms of Morphius and slide you straight down the grease-slicked chute into the Sixteenth Nether Hell.

You can now opt out of this program easily. Simply send a ragtag group of rebellious adventurers directly into the dreaded Ebon Keep of Certain Doom, have them slay both the Two-Headed Dragon Of Both Penultimate And Ultimate Flame, and return here with the Ring That Slays All Who Touch It. We’ll take your name right off the list.

WASPS. Again, to clarify: If you are not allergic to wasps, you are automatically opted into our “wasp-enhanced nocturnes” programme, sponsored by a very popular pest control company whose name you won’t be hearing here, because you’re sure going to be hearing them again after you close your eyes and we’d hate to spoil the surprise! Where were we? Oh, right, automatically opted in, so your nighttime movearounds are extremely insectile-augmented.

SPECIAL OFFER JUST FOR YOU. We’ve decided we could use YOUR genes, yes, YOURS to create the next genetically enhanced supermodelsoldier! Please grind up your bones and mail them to us, and we promise to give your family and/or inheritors a substantial discount on their next three months of service.

BONUS CONTENT. We have just released 85,800 hours of bonus content. We haven’t checked what it is. But you’ll love it. Yes. You WILL love it.

__

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 Very Special Offers appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

Let Us Wash Your Brain

You seem to have worried.
Please, friend, refrain.
You don’t have to wash your brain.
How boring and how tedious!
That’s why you are needing…US!

Human, made of blood and bone,
Dream your dreams of silicone,
Every sense dull and un-hone,
In the vortex of your phone.

Opinions are terrifying.
Cortexes are made for frying.
Independent thought is great!
But much too heavy for your plate.

When new media approaches,
Be sure no ill thought encroaches.
To avoid regretting later,
Check carefully on the creator.

Is this someone we’ve approved?
Otherwise, it’s most behooved:
Turn away in pure disgust.
(For OUR opinions, you WILL trust.)

All good people (hear us, shirkers!)
Check the minds of their co-workers
To see if their words need bring scowling
As with Wrongthink they’re befouling.

Check your movies. Check your books.
Wrongthink hides in lots of books.
Celebrities and influencers
Must dodge Wrongthink like they’re fencers.

Are your thoughts all wholly pure?
You’re unsure. Yes, you’re unsure.
Why should Wrongthink you endure?
When Goodthink could your brain immure?

If alone, try a little trembling
Since all your Internet dissembling
Has led us to explore your views:
Do you have an opinion before you watch the news?

Human intellect is sinking,
Dendritic passages are kinking,
But at least you have your Phone
To help you navigate the known.

What should you do? Check your screen.
What should you think? Your brain is clean.
“Mind control”? All the absurds.
(Your phone won’t let you use those words.)

__

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 Let Us Wash Your Brain appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

Dwarfish Heroism

The life of a Dwarf who deals with humans is essentially defined by interruption.

Dwarves are livelong people, contemplative, slow by choice. You must strike very very long and very very hard and very very consistently if you are to moil for gold, gems, other precious things from under the earth. But most of all, if you do not wish to waste many years, you must know where to strike.

And this philosophy extends to all that Dwarves do. Of course it does; once you examine the value of contemplation, it is obvious (and nevermind which tool, precisely, is defining the value of this tool; it’s still a valid point.) Contemplation increases the efficiency of most large tasks; and if there is something to which Dwarf culture truly thrills, it is very very very large tasks. T’pah, God of Building, Dwarves, and Miniatures (laugh not, mortal; or laugh, see if he cares) is not a God of many words. “Talk less, build more” could be considered a concise summary of his philosophy; it could also be considered a complete and unabridged summary of his philosophy, as, outside of a few very specific conversations with some extremely harried prophets, it was all He’d said to the Dwarves.

It was enough.

Dwarves think a long time, and then act a long time. As is sensible, reasonable, efficient, and, let us not, pleasant.

And this is the life of all civilized Dwarves, except for criminals, certain warriors and law-enforcement professionals, certain hunters and very specialized jobs, and, of course, the Heroes, which is to say, those who dealt with Humans.

Most Dwarves are good with an axe. Most Dwarves know a spell or two. Most Dwarves have a number of skills for surviving in strange, deep places very far Underneath, and many of those skills are immensely useful when dealing with simpler things such as minotaurs, exploding castles, werewolves, and curses.

These things are more dangerous than the human tendency towards impetuousness. Dwarves are not so chauvinistic as to suggest that Human haste doesn’t work…for humans…

It is not entirely incompatible with the Dwarfish way of life, just as the great flaming rock which fell out of the burning sky a thousand years ago was not entirely incompatible with the Kingdom upon which it landed, destroying the Royal Family, the Castle, the capital city, the capital state, and the majority of the arable farmland within several months’ journey.

“Entirely” is a very, very specific word, in Dwarfish culture.

But very, very few Dwarves are willing and able to ensure the survival of the race by making sure that at least someone, at least sometimes, is willing to deal with Humans under stress for extended periods of time.

“Ambassador” suggests dignity. Humans are told that Dwarves lack ambassadorial staffs because they are all equal, which is, in certain senses, not unreasonably true.

It is very rare, and only in times of great stress, that someone needs to deal with Humans while maintaining the level of Darvishness necessary to survive unlife-threatening circumstances.

Dwarves and Humans both call these people Heroes. If the Dwarven meaning has certain differences from that of homo sapiens, Humans are welcome to object.

Once they notice.

__

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 Dwarfish Heroism appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

The Witch’s Migraine

She pulled mandrake at the nocturne,
her ears proper stopped,
her hands in good strong workmanlike gloves,
pulled hard, swift, authoritative,
but the damn thing,
instead of screaming like a dozen dying men being dragged to the Hell of Wasting where they will freeze and starve forever and a year,

it did merely point out that it had always hoped its life would be ended
by someone with a little more sense of style,
maybe an inch of fashion sense,
maybe someone who could do something decent with her hair.

She stuffed it between the manifold pages of Des Cultes Ghoules, but she could hear its muffled-but-enunciated notes upon her personal hygiene.

As she soaked in her the bathing-cauldron,
studded with Grains of Paradice,
her shoulders soothed by the easements of costmary and galingale,
careful doses of spikenard to ease her towards calm.
even pinches of cubeb, prickly, intimate in the heat,

she is as much at peace as is possible
for someone whose familiar
had chosen to be an octopus that day

without telling her.

The Witch blew out the lamp.

The Witch took a sip of water.

The Witch began muttering, quietly, very very old words, more like building blocks.

The piercing anguish of her migraine beat against her cerebellum, but her parietal lobe throbbed with simple purpose as her mouth opened and the Universe remembered.

As the Migraine was smitten by ten thousand time eighteen times seven thousand thunderbolts, the Witch lost consciousness. She may have died; but that Migraine would surely not live.

Her body is still. But there is a chance it breathes.

And it is very, very perceptibly smiling.

__

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 The Witch’s Migraine appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.

Sith Pith

I’ve been away, as I’ve been busy having my soul refracted into divergent hellscapes by the antique Holocron we got from Amazon while we were trying to replace our air conditioner filter. (You know how it goes.)

So I decided to give you a little Sith wisdom to brighten your day while you wait for my next novel.

(Do I have to write another novel?)

___

The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force. But, like, what isn’t?

___

Palpatine attempted to win a major combat with battle meditation—essentially controlling and enhancing the abilities of an entire gigantic fleet during a life-and-death struggle—while controlling the two most powerful Jedi he could find.

Lack most of us, his problem was a lack of ambition.

___

Duct tape is like the Force: it has a light side and a dark side and is used to arbitrarily Macgyver plots hither, thither, and yon throughout the entire Galaxy.

___

Step 1: Use the Dark Side of the Force to become a God and destroy all your rivals.

Step 2: By the Rule of 2, you will then be essentially unable to help destroying yourself.

Step 3: This always happens. If you’ve done enough research to gain this kind of power, you’ve done enough research to know this. Why are you doing this to yourself?

 

 

 

 

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Princess Tower

Once there was a beautiful Tower that was trapped by a tall, sinister Princess.

The Tower was a lovely, bright, airy tower which loved nothing more than to be bedecked with flowers from the local fields. In happier times, its lower levels held carnivals for the local children, and its upper levels served as an observatory.

All this changed when a wicked Witch locked a Princess in the Tower.

The Princess would not be denied. She bustled into the top of the tower, pushing all the astronomical instruments out of the windows and off of parapets as she wept over her cruel fate: in a world where most peasants primarily at mush, other mush, and a third form of mush that didn’t taste as good, her roast partridge was frequently undercooked when the sweating chefs finally ran from the Castle grounds up the nine hundred eighty seven steps to where the Princess, for no particularly good reason, insisted on staying at the very top of the Tower, claiming it was good for her complexion.

Furthermore, many of the days of the year were somewhat rainy, and during the winter, it sometimes even snowed; a particular hardship for someone who could not stroll free through the woods and the fields, and was forced to spend her time in the 240,000 square foot condominium of the Great Tower.

The Tower tried to be patient.

Princesses do not tend to live more than, say, a hundred years; significantly less, if one can find an appropriate dragon.

Towers can last many centuries.

Perhaps if the Tower simply endured this Princess, someday she would shuffle off this mortal coil, accidentally defenestrate, and the Tower would be rid of her once, for all, and for good, bad, indifferent, and anything else available.

Perhaps the Tower had a Fairy Godkeep, some hitherto unknown architectural ancestor with magical ambitions, who might turn the Princess into a frog. Then all that would be necessary would be attracting a cat…

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