R.H. Snow's Blog, page 45

WATCHER of the DAMNED – BOOK BOOTH DAY! Old Fort Parker in Limestone County

WATCHER of the DAMNED Book Booth today at Old Fort Parker! Fort Parker is a featured location in the Second Book of our Series, Six-Gun Shiva!! Come out for the Books, stay for the Action Cowboys and Festivities YaY!

I made a... ScribbleBlurb?

Authors are frequently encouraged to ‘hype their books’ on varying platforms. This lovely self-affirmation, while warm and fuzzy, rarely produces sales. This little exercise, however, is a classic example of dinner-napkin sales and I decided it was worth my time. Some of my best hours at the dinner table were spent pitching ideas and designs to my Father while drawing on napkins, so this is a throwback to those idealistic times, and a great way to me practice hand-drawn fonts once more.

#ReHashed

Something’s wrong with me.

The last 24 hours I’s spent at the scene of the crime, trying to figure out what to do with the corpse of what was once a vibrant breathing operating system; it had been working just fine everything was as it should be, even a little boring. There was no reason to tinker with something that wasn’t broke…

But that didn’t stop me.

I made the mistake of opening up my sound settings, and saw an unbidden program listening in on my microphone. It was probably an innocent byproduct of a website long gone, easily remedied with a flick of a toggle and a reboot - but for some reason, it just rubbed me the wrong way. I don’t like people listening in just to hear me breathe, and I don’t want to cuss in front of strangers, so I decided I’d had enough -

I uninstalled the browser.

Now, this should have been enough. It WAS enough, but I went back through my settings and found a dummy server where I hadn’t specifically asked for one; this irritated me no end and I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I executed a command line purge.

CAVEAT: this is usually no big deal, especially when performed by People Who Are Technologically Skilled (PWATS). But I am not a PWATS: I am a PWONC (Persons Who Oughtta Never Code). This is not due to a lack of MAN files; all the info is there - it is due to the lack of reading said files on my part, and as a result, the command line purge did something unexpected, and I totally bricked my computer - I could no longer connect to the Network.

Supposedly this was because I somehow nuked the resolvconf program, which causes much pain in certain networking protocols. There is a simple explanation of how this happened, involving 1D10T codes and lack of general knowledge; but I have never been one to let this stop me from playing with computers. I mashed all the F Keys, toying with BIOS utilities and fscking around with files...

For some unfathomable reason, this did not work.

At this point, I realise I should have called someone, anyone, who has even an inkling of what they are doing. This is logical, but it not fun. To be fair, I did stop briefly to consider what I would do if I wiped it down badly that I could not break back into my system to reboot, and I knew that it would involve some sort of mea cupla and payments to PWATS. But as I dabbled in the dark inner systems of my computer, a perverse joy was taking hold of me, from the top to my head to the bottom of my toes:

I wanted to watch my digital world burn.

Inserting the thumb drive, I uploaded my most precious works - my manuscripts, my illustrations, all I ethereally own; I umounted my universe, then popped in the ISO image and pulled the trigger.

Farewell, vestigial Windows partition, with your vampiric updater and insistence on logging into Outlook every single time for everything;

Farewell, unreachable DiscWorld DOS game I never could get to load, even in WINE -

Farewell, unused IRC chat program I never really used but wanted just because it made me feel like a l33t h4x0r.

my rebel spirit was rising with every line of code that scrolled, the formatting of the ghost in my shell transforming into a Cybernetic Goddess of Destruction. I revelled in the absolute power of doing it all myself, even if it meant destroying everything so I could start over again…

Linux Mint booted up without a hitch, like it does every time. It took a while to get my wallpapers just the way I like them, and I made sure to load my desktop preferences to make the fonts extra big so I can see the clock even without my glasses. But even after it was all over, I couldn’t sleep. I felt a giddy glee at my own status as She Who Shall Be Obeyed, the Destroyer of Digital Worlds -

I’ll probably do it again next week.

Dystopia in G Minor

Writers always enjoy getting new readers, but it is not an easy task to be seen amidst the cacophany of Creators. Fortunately, writers now have a brand new ally in the fight for views: the Goverment!

Oh, it is a cause for concern to some. There is an ever-danger of intimidation, harrassment or even outright persecution when The Powers That Be take interest in The Power of We; but even in the midst of this extraordinary scrutiny, we must find a silver lining… We the People have You, our Government Readers!

High profile people have made their interests known by forming a new Reading Club known as the Disinformation Governance Board. Now, as we all can agree, any entity with the words ‘Governance Board’ in its name is to be rightfully feared, as those words tend to denote absolute tyranny. I am certain that those who organised this board are fully aware of the effects of its name, and are certain to be enjoying said effects right now. No one creates a Governance board of any kind for any good reason; they are created to let people know there was a bad reason. So with that in mind, let us just admit that those who are in charge of said Disinformation Governance Board are intending to wield it as a hammer - and they duly expect our compliance, or else.

But while we are being blugeoned to ideological death by our betters, let us find a silver lining; to bloom where we are implanted, to brighten the Gulag where are, etc. - and I, for one, welcome our new Speech Overlords. Let us embrace our new Audience!

Of course, some will complain this is Pollyannish. It is. And why not? In a world of skyrocketing inflation, crippling supply chain issues and unexplained shortages, it would seem naive at best for anyone to see any good in any Governance Board, especially one designed to crush ‘Free Speech Absolutists’. But opportunity knocks with this enforced readership: somebody, somewhere, is being tasked with reading everything we’ve ever written; I at last am guaranteed an audience, and I intend to amuse it.

I do have a few teensy rules, though and You Who Must Be Obeyed won’t mind following these rules while we graciously offer you our vast libraries of tweets, rants and generally innocuous musings:

FIVE GOVERNING GOVERNANCES FOR GOVERNING GOVERNORS

RULE ONE: Do not name call. Calling people names is ill advised for a number of reasons, reason one being it is mean and mean people suck. If you want us to write interesting diatribes that are worthy of your illustrious scrutiny, stop insulting us. We’re far more likely to write something spectacular if we think you like us.

RULE TWO: Do not ask for personal information. People who are our friends already know where we live. When we want you to know, we will freely offer that information - which we will do after you’ve convinced us you really are Joe Bobby Frankendoofs from Fort Worth, Texas. Which you totally will, because we love our Readers.

RULE THREE: Do not belittle our content - we might stop writing! Well, not that one Troll - they love that sort of thing. But most of us are quite shy, and may need some coaxing if you want to hear our really juicy freespeechisms. Instead, tell us you love what we just wrote and you want to hear more; we’ll write all kinds of intellectual smut because it’s always flattering to be flattered - until one is flattened.

RULE FOUR: DO put it in writing. Write exactly what you think we should write and make sure to let us see it in triplicate. When we write back what you wrote to us, you can then point with pride at the Thought Crime you perpetrated, word for word.

READ EVERYTHING: I mean everything. Become a SuperFan. Visit all our plaforms. Sign in to our pages. Leave comments, click hearts, retweet obsessively and check at 3AM to see if we have updated. This will make us think you care if you publicly support us and let your bot audience know to like and subscribe. Make sure to sign up for notifications - it’s a guaranteed Free Speech Fiesta when you do!

With these Five Rules in place, the Disinformation Governance Board and the Iron Fist that wields it will become a valuable member of our writers’ community. If every little word we write is going to be vivisected in preparation for the devouring minds of the Silver Platter Set, we might as well enjoy the attention. With the all-seeing eye combing our every word, we have you, our Governing audience, collaborating in our latest work: Dystopia in G Minor, a Play in One Act, to a captive crowd -

are you not entertained?

I Will Wear Your Brooch

I will wear your brooch

the Silver Gemstone Flowers

You wore when you passed

~~~~~

I will touch your hair

the Silver Silken Tresses,

a lock in a box

~~~~~

I will hold your hand

Forever in my Spirit

kneeling beside you

~~~~~

You still are with me

Ever in my memory

Eternal in Love

~~~~~

To all

- Happy Mother’s Day

Book Booths are for Authors

EEEE all my books sold at my Book Booth EEEE

Dragonfly VS Storm

Limestone County, 6:57PM, 04/30/22

Blessings in life come in unexpected ways; due to the fortuitious placement of aforementioned dubble-wide in a last-century cottonfield, I have the remarkable ability to core punch from my back porch. While tracking this really classic little warned cell to the south, I took several quick photos for reference and whisked them off to the National Weather Service. Of course, there was nothing really unusual in these shots, but it still is a thunderhead warned for 2+” plus hail and I like to think I am contributing to the ever-burgeoning workload of meteorologists by sending them pictures of clouds.

While perusing my phone for the best shot, I found this nice photo, and tried to clean the screen several times to clear away a spot. But it is not a spot…

it is a happy little dragonfly.

Now, I am not one to criticise the dragonfly for photobombing my thunderhead. If anything, the dragonfly adds to this composition, if I only have eyes to see. After all, what could be nicer on a lovely spring evening than a Dragonfly thunderstorm?

In this bucolic fantasy, one would hope the Dragonfly has no cares; hovering above the prairie parsleys and pink evening primroses, it should want nothing more than a delicious mosquito or two and perhaps a dip in the pond. All is right in the Dragonfly’s world…

but in the distance, a storm is brewing.

Will it make any difference to the Dragonfly if it knew the storm was coming? Would it change the Dragonfly’s life if it could prepare for the coming devastation? Or would this knowledge just ruin this beautiful moment of a Free Creation soaring above the greening prairie on the wisping breeze?

That question can only be answered by the Dragonfly.

Wars and Rumors of Wars

The children are dead; mothers are weeping

wars and rumors of wars

The news is not saying - anchors are sleeping

wars and rumors of wars

Down in the Valley, beyond the green fields,

sun shining bright on the weapon he wields,

a man will fight for the family he shields

wars and rumors of wars

~~~~~

It’s spring in the desert, octillo in bloom

wars and rumors of wars

the desert’s alive with Anaqua’s perfume

wars and rumors of wars

Along the recasa, Chachalacas bring

the news of the Valley, where truth-bringers sing

of death on the Rio, where ricochets ring -

wars and rumors of wars

~~~~~

The media glows with celebrity noise

wars and rumors of wars

friends and their foes playing games with their toys

wars and rumors of wars

but down on the Rio, Destiny waits;

word from the front weaving Fortunes and Fates,

bringing the truth of the Guns at the Gates -

wars and rumors of wars

Congratulations to the Prometheus Award Best Novel Finalists from Fellow Nominee WATCHER of the DAMNED!

The Finalist list for the Prometheus Award Best Novel of 2021 has been released - *insert drum roll HERE*:

http://lfs.org/blog/

Out of a field of twelve nominated authors, four authors' works were chosen for this year's award:

1) Nobel Laureate Kazuo Ishiguro

2) Britain's 'Orange Prize' Winner Lionel Shriver

3) Best Selling Sci-Fi Author and Aerospace Systems Engineer Karl K. Gallagher

4) Best Selling Author, Programmer and Science Columnist for SyFy and Wired, Wil McCarthy

With this stellar field of candidates, we are just honored to be nominated for this award! Thank you to all our supporters, and good luck to the Prometheus Award Best Novel Finalists from R. H. Snow and our Team at WATCHER of the DAMNED!

MUSIC of WATCHER of the DAMNED: In the Garden by C. Austin Miles, 1912

Music featured in R. H. Snow's Sci-Fi Western Series, WATCHER of the DAMNED: 'In the Garden' aka 'I Come to the Garden Alone' by C. Austin Miles in 1912 (Shilo's Theme).

IN THE GARDEN

‘In the Garden’ - Vocals and piano, Rebecca Hancock Snow. All photos property of Rebecca Hancock Snow, song in the public domain.

Easter comes, and with it comes the desire to sing the Old Gospel Hymns.

They are a part of the fabric in our lives here, the tapestry of voices of the dead, woven into memory and display on the Altar of our Hearts. When the Special Days come, we sing and weep, but we don’t know why -

perhaps it is because we hope that someday, someone will remember us. If they do, shall we hear them?

Pay special attention to the clicking and creaking - it the sound of a 130+ year old upright cabinet grand piano singing along. In the Garden' is a favorite hymn at Shiloh and yes - deep in the night, when the Church is empty and the moon is full, this song has been heard: the music of a heavenly piano, far away...

~~~~~IN THE GARDEN~~~~~

I come to the garden alone,

While the dew is still on the roses,

And the voice I hear falling on my ear

The Son of God discloses.

~~~~~

Refrain:

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am His own; And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other has ever known

~~~~~

He speaks, and the sound of His voice

Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,

And the melody that He gave to me

Within my heart is ringing.

~~~~~

I’d stay in the garden with Him,

Though the night around me be falling,

But He bids me go; through the voice of woe

His voice to me is calling.

~~~~~

Refrain:

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am His own; And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other has ever known.

~~~~~

❤️Happy Easter❤️

-----

From 'WATCHER of the DAMNED, TransMutation Texas' by R. H. Snow:

"She wept, wanting God to answer her tears. Head in her hands, elbows on her knees, she prayed out of her broken heart, with no way of knowing if anyone out there answered back. Leaning her head back against the cool wall of the bathroom, she wondered if others had been here before, thinking this same thing.

She wiped her eyes. Far away, she heard new music. A piano played, faint, tinny, and out of tune, but the melody was known to her. It was a song about God in the Garden.

I come to the Garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses...

She closed her eyes, remembering what it felt like to be loved by God. There had been times when God seemed so real and she would hear Him—not as he sounded on the WeSpeex Ring, but how He sounded in her heart. It made her wonder if it was true, and if it was, then why had God abandoned her? It was a beautiful song, one they would sing in the worship services.

The Watcher must be playing the old piano....

She felt a little better. Music feels like love. In that moment, Love was enough."

-----