Miguel Conner's Blog

New Novel Coming Out!

Yes, it has been a while since I've posted, but I have been gasping for time with Aeon Byte Gnostic Radio, several writing assignments, and three beautiful ladies in the household (wife, a teen, and an infant...surely, you must get the picture!).

So I'm back and ready to announce something I should have mentioned much earlier, but it happened to be one of the projects I was involved with.

I have a new novel coming out:



It's The Executioner's Daughter, brought to you by Solstice Publishing, an exploding company that continually places bestsellers on Amazon.com. I will have more details soon, but let's say it's my usual edgy speculative fiction, with heavy doses of spirituality and philosophy. It will certainly be available in both print and eBook; and it is certainly part of series, this one called The Deadspeaker Cycle. Someone has to speak for the dead in this world, right, beyond preachers and false gurus?

I also have a new book trailer for Stargazer, so check it out and check out of mundane reality for a spell or two (and into the truth):


Lastly, I'll be in time migrating the content of this blog to a streamlined location, since I'm getting thin with several books on my  plate. My eternal gratitude for those of you supporting my Hobbit ventures, as we continue together on this dark odyssey through the gnashing rocks of Orthodoxy, all the way to the farthest shores of imagination.

Let's keep writing our gospel and living our own myth.

Welcome to the Desert of the Real

(And what to do if you're there without a towel) Lilith's winter kingdom represents the heart of the Desert of the Real
                                                 "I must create a system or be enslaved by another man's."
                                                  William Blake
                                                                                      "Man can embody truth, but he cannot know it."                                                                                       W.B. Yeats                                                                                                             "What did you dream? It's alright we told what to dream."
                                                                                                              Pink Floyd  Welcome to the Machine

The truth is that I am not an expert on vampires or the vampire genre; an even greater truth is that great numbers of individuals know more about Science Fiction than me.

But that never stopped me from finding my infernal muse in these ethereal, haunted domains. It certainly shouldn't stop you from creating epics worthy of a mad god's dream. Why?

Because it's the Desert of the Real.

Philosopher Jean Baudrillard coined the term; Morpheus spoke it to Neo after he swallowed the Red Pill. Basically, the Desert of the Real spreads into pop culture at the end of the latest hologram of The Empire (this term borrowed from Philip K. Dick). The dawn of our dusk is coming around, and as a civilization we cannot handle conventional reality anymore. The karmic weight of the conquering past and the sanity-tattooing of runaway technology is, again mentioning Morpheus, like a splinter in our minds.

To put it simply, the Desert of the Real is a vast media wasteland of nostalgia. Like the English and Roman empires, we have fallen away from conventional reality and into the dreamworld of rabid romance. That's the Desert of the Real, where we can project our deepest fears and wounded hopes in the canvass of bygone or incredible landscapes. It's where our collective shadow can vent, in visceral and often simplistic worlds, where stereotypes become archetypes. That is why our present civilization has created zombies, giant robots, and swing dancers who never leave the bars. That is why Westerns are so pregnant with fondness even as they sail upon seas blood; genocidal orcs are welcomed with folksy melodies under a vagina eye; and our gods wear spandex on their way to a funeral for a friend, as a brilliant writer remarked.

It's nostalgia in all existentialist costumes. Innocence washed in cathartic ultraviolence. Where men are men, and woman have the a chance of finally being free.

It's the Desert of the Real. You and I are already in it. Our unlikely redemption, our very salvation comes only through creation, the weaving of mirages into holy and unholy meaning.

Think about it, as we enter together that dawn of the dusk of The Empire, the Desert of the Real creeping slowly over any corporate, digital oasis of a brighter future.

Or just think about how many pioneers of modern film-making have capitalized on our desire for schmaltz on Red Bull, manageable odysseys to times when existence seemed to be less complicated. Some of these include Quentin Tarantino, Steven Spielberg, Oliver Stone, and Stanley Kubrick. Yes, the Desert of the Real can include war epics and gansters. It's where our pain-ridden spirits, suppressed and oppressed by The Empire who holds no mercy or even answers, can rise like Icarus in search of that sun of psychic liberation.

Stargazer and Heretic are in part nostalgia, just as any vampire tale is-- drawing upon a Dyonisian Golden Age as well as a Victorian angst that from our vantage point seem clement. We all have a voice in the wilderness crying out for our indwelling Savior. Thus we all can write well about vampires, or in the speculative Valhalla that is science fiction.

You have taken the Red Pill, now it's time to swallow once and for all the truth, seemingly lost in the Desert of the Real with little hope to return home twice. But home never was home under The Empire. You'll make a new, terrible, and heroic home. And at least find some solid footing in the perilous dunes of revisionism.

Maybe all history is nostalgia. Maybe all reality is an arid wasteland; but by weaving the mirages we will find more answers than the sandy responses kicked in our faces daily by the Ozymandias establishment.

Here is an excerpt from Stargazer that illustrates the Desert of the Real. It's nostalgia within a tale of nostalgia. The protagonist, Byron Solsbury, converses with an old friend about a seemingly incomplex time in the vampire utopia. Byron knows that the human he's interested in is the main force behind the revolt in the holocaust Farms. He also knows that fact he's interested in her is disturbing in itself. He was sent from Xanadu to crush any mortal insurrection by his supreme leader, Lilith. It is his last chance to correct his own rebellious past, buy into the vampire nostalgia of a necessary past and Emerald City future. Yet Byron is interested and nostalgic, finding his voice in the wilderness crying for his indwelling Savior. He is making a new, terrible, and heroic home out his relationship with Medea, the shaman of this particular Farm.

Hopefully this won't wreck my Hindenburg narrative, but first fangbang my piece Not in His Image: The Racist Origins of Science Fiction . Also, please visit me this weekend at Quimby's Bookstore, if you're in Chicago. I will be giving a reading and signing books on July 21st. I'm sure I'll have more concerning the Desert of the Real.

Back to mine or, I should say, Byron's nostalgia:

Lightning shuddered a hundred miles away in a stew of chemical clouds crowning the mountains. As majestic as it was, volatile ignitions of somber white, struggling through phosphorous gray and blue to outline the ancient peaks, it was also soothing, almost hypnotic, here in the quiet of the twilight.          And, of course, Mephisto had to ruin it.          “It wouldn’t get to us,” Mephisto said, leaning over the metal railing. “A storm of that magnitude never lasts. The Warm Ones used to think it was their primitive deities coming to rescue them, long before they become monotheistic. Remember?”          “Vaguely,” I lied, putting out my cigarette on the floor of the balcony.          “We’re fortunate none of those storms or nature itself ever did anything too bad to Xanadu. Not like its cousins during The Cataclysm of Tears.”          My ears caught the rumble of that rarity called thunder. It was faint, almost absorbed by the radioactive gases and the crackle of neutrons-junk that part of its constitution these nights.          I lit another cigarette, my only movement in a chair by the doorway. More lightning. Mephisto wouldn’t shut up.          “It’s the only good thing about the northern Farms, besides the important work we perform for Our Mistress and our society. In the winter, if you look hard enough, you can see the phenomena of—”“When were you given existence?” I asked, staring at the lightning and its distance.          He pivoted to rest on an elbow. “Uh, I don’t know. Shortly after you were, I believe. We met when they decided to split The Farms into four. You were already a sterling leader, Byron.”          “Do you remember being birthed?”          He shrugged, and then shrugged a second time, more for himself.          “Slightly. Do you?”          I didn’t answer, pretending to be busy blowing smoke rings.          “Why are you asking this, Byron? It’s The MoonQueen’s will. We exist, genesis and ending irrelevant to our immortal essences.”          The most important canon of the Stargazer, gleaned through endless Fusings, flashed in my head Warm Ones and other beings live; we exist. Life ends, existence eternally is. The Dark Instinct will outlast time, the cosmos, consuming everything until it completely Is. When the flash subsided, Mephisto was ending his dissertation.          “…know belief isn’t in your vocabulary, Byron, and you can be a pain sometimes, but acceptance is a noble pursuit.”          “I did accept Dante’s ending, didn’t I?”          “I guess,” he said, pursing his lips.          “Did you?”          “Byron,” was all he said.          “Did you?”          He spoke slowly. “You did save my existence, and maybe it was my fault because I provoked his infamous temper. I mean, I didn’t think we had to pillage the whole farm section even with the high food reserves. I still stand by that. It didn’t matter what we thought because you were our superior.” He shook his head sadly. “But you and Dante always had a way of taking matters to the extreme. Yet, to this night, I wonder why you had to destroy him. To this night, though, I can’t help wonder if you two would ever done it otherwise.”          “You’re very good, Meph,” I said. “But you still haven’t answered the question.”          He watched the scenery instead of answering me. I thanked him silently and fingered another cigarette.          The night wasn’t evolving with any more velocity, it seemed. I’d risen without dreams, thankfully, but whispers echoed from the obscure din that was Moratoria. Voices I thought I knew, perhaps hers, glory unto the highest.          My first action had been to jot down a few bytes on my computer, putting them in the form of a field study, my interaction with Medea, her inane religion, what I’d seen in the animal’s eyes, it was all in there. I stressed many times that action wouldn’t be prudent until the source of Leztant’s ending was unearthed. Part of me could already predict Shib and The Elder’s pride at my assiduous work when I zapped it to them. With a quick movement, disobeying any rational objection, my finger deleted two hours of work. It was all gone. I leaned back in my chair and felt partly relieved.          What was wrong with me?          Thinking maybe I just needed company, my kind, I went to Mephisto’s office on the other side of the station. He seemed glad to see my form at his doorstep, almost a little surprised. He invited me for a meal. Like any Stargazer at any time, I couldn’t deny it.          The population curiously eyed us as we entered the feeding area, two companions they still remembered from early nights. Mephisto seemed in very good spirits, and I was sure he’d tell The Elders how well he was keeping me under his eye. Perhaps to show his appreciation or just to loosen my tongue, he had a fresh carcass of a Warm One brought to our table.          “An accident in my laboratory,” Mephisto explained, raising a steel straw in a toast. “It was supposed to last a few more weeks, but my assistant keeps forgetting her strength. Her punishment is to watch us from the other table, ha ha. Enjoy, old friend.”          I glanced at the animal’s features, tepid and rubbery, and permanently devoid of ardor, not like another Warm One I knew, looking at naught from an odd angle caused by a splintered neck. I toasted back at the Scientist and jammed my own straw into the plumpest being I could smell. Before long, the straws lay on the floor, the Stargazers at the other tables eyed us with envy, while we suckled juice through puckered mouths and clicking tongues.          Unusually sated, we wandered through rocky tunnels to his quarters, after he’d delivered a few orders to his offices.          In one of his wardrobes, he showed me his collection of memorabilia from Raven nights. There were carved skulls and antiquated whips, framed proposals and essays on animal control, uniforms grafted with medals and rank patches. Mephisto showed me everything with detailed care. I nodded politely most of the time, showing emotion only when he got to the pictures, old pictures of simpler times.          My image graced much of the glossy surfaces. There I was, in one standing proudly with fists nudged to my sides. Mephisto squatted to my left with folded arms, while my other friend, my closest friend, Dante, grinned to my right, all three of the great Raven mavericks posing before a row of Warm Ones hung by their feet after a hunting march. There I was, dressed in black trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, with the rose stitched armband marking my leadership status, looking fierce and confident and smiling a lot, like the world was ours. There I was, marching, performing flying drills, giving orders. There I was, before I started breaking down a decade or so later. We lampooned and laughed and took the vestal Raven regime with so much passion to new heights. And, yes we believed that is was going to be a better world, that nature would come to its sense by our little prank, that The MoonQueen would deliver us all the way of the hidden stars. We believed.          And there I was.          “By the way,” Mephisto said after a dialogue drought, kicking his feet over the ledge. “I like what you’ve been doing.”          “What’s that?”          “By”—he paused to stress his distaste—“interacting, amicably with this animal, this leader of cattle, you will learn much without fuss. If anything, at least you’ve got a pet for the time being. Everyone here thinks it’s hilarious.”          “It’s getting funnier by the night, Meph. I might even decide to keep her.”          He chuckled loudly. “You’re a sly one. So when do you think you’ll have concrete information?”          I smirked at his back. He didn’t sense it. Good old Mephisto.          For the first time in hours, I stood up. Jumping on the railing, I kept my balance without gifts. He stared at me oddly.          I wanted to be closer to that thunder and lightning out in the mountaintops, in the wilderness, but that wouldn’t happen. It had distance. And there I was, with my own distance, realizing I was far away here with my kind in my land as I was to Medea and her kind. Like the storm clouds that struggled with their intended purpose, I was caught between two worlds, it seemed, each tugging at me for reasons I didn’t understand. Maybe the whole struggle was just my way of masking situations harder for myself and those surrounding me. Just like when I lost my Raven rank and took the profession of a rogue, it was all by my own doing.          “I’ll have what I want,” I said, my response tinged with its own storm. “Tomorrow.”          “You’re a sly one, Byron.”

DOWNLOAD THE FIRST FOUR CHAPTERS OF STARGAZER
DOWNLOAD THE FIRST FOUR CHAPTERS OF HERETIC

Heretic: New Cover & Other Bloody Sundries

If you have bought Heretic with the former cover, you've got a valuable collector's edition. If you haven't, then you get a stunning new cover that exemplifies the spirit of The Dark Instinct Series. The artwork by Lin MacCullen, for Stargazer and the original Heretic, was outstanding; but when visionary artist Derek Murphy approached me with his heresies, we agreed on a dark new direction.

If you haven't fangbanged the synopsis of Heretic, check it out here.
If you haven't even fangbanged the first novel, Stargazer, check it our here.

Both works of The Dark Instinct Series are available in any format you want, so give them a taste before something changes!

I've bloodied on past posts about how this series (which began in 1998 with The Queen of Darkness) has been a pioneer for the dystopian/apocalypse vampire genre. It seems my work continues to be copied, recently with Guillermo De Toros' new book: The Night Eternal .


The description is telling, drawing directly from The Dark Instinct Series (shown in bold):

"It’s been two years since the vampiric virus was unleashed in The Strain, and the entire world now lies on the brink of annihilation. There is only night as nuclear winter blankets the land, the sun filtering through the poisoned atmosphere for two hours each day—the perfect environment for the propagation of vampires.
There has been a mass extermination of humans, the best and the brightest, the wealthy and the influential, orchestrated by the Master—an ancient vampire possessed of unparalleled powers—who selects survivors based on compliance. Those humans who remain are entirely subjugated, interred in camps, and separated by status: those who breed more humans, and those who are bled for the sustenance of the Master’s vast army.
The future of humankind lies in the hands of a ragtag band of freedom fighters..."

I'll chalk it up to the ramblings of the collective unconscious. At least until I read the entire book of an artist I admire very much. If anyone has read it, let me know.

Two more points before the sun rises and I think of other vampire-cliches:

Check out my Ezinearticles piece Also in His Image: The True Origins of the Vampire . And check out this season's True Blood, which borrows from this idea I've had for many moons. And it continues...

Lastly, please subscribe to this blog and I'll gladly give a free e-book copy of Heretic, in any format you want. Email me!

I should blog more often, but I feel like a teen scribbling away in her diary, and then showing everything to the world including vampires in her drawers...

THE INTRODUCTION TO HERETIC-- Byron Meets Jesus & The Forgotten Eat Human Veal

Lucius and Lilith, ruler of all vampires and new gods, plot to steal the precious blood of a certain Messiah in order to become beyond-omnipotent. But it all goes wrong or maybe right.
The success of The Hunger Games informs us that society is angrily aware that the establishment and systems of this world are fraudulent. We have been taken advantage of in all possible ways...worse: the Powers and Principalities have been feeding on our minds, bodies and very souls. The rocket-rise of Philip K. Dick and his movie adaptations tells us the same thing, plus that paranoia is not a big destroyer--as The Kinks sang--but a big rescuer. Both The Hunger Games and PKD also reveal that we yearn for the archetype or trope of the sacrificial hero, the champion scapegoat, or least those who would lay their lives for a cause or the least of our brothers. Unfortunately, that hasn't happened too much in Western Culture; but let's see if reality imitates that religious art of the Savior Godman meme. After all, we are all Savior Godmen if we find our inner Divine Spark or at least artistic Voice. It's a matter of accepting the breaking pain that goes with it. Like Ernest Hemingway said, "I may be destroyed, but not defeated."
The vampire, post-apocalyptic, sacred scapegoat, and dystopian genres have risen in popularity. Yet I must contend that my Dark Instinct Series , written a decade ago and only seeing the light of day now, contain all of these genres and even more, whether you're looking for a great message or a great adventure.
Thus I have posted the introduction to Heretic , which also reveals that the humorous 'Jesus was a vampire' idea you see around the Internet was something I sorta jumped on first. Before you read it, you should probably read Stargazer or at least the synopsis:
A DAMNED KNIGHT RIDES TO MEET THE BLOOD MESSIAH
The Stargazer capital Xanadu has been destroyed. The immortal ruler of vampires, The MoonQueen, has been vanquished. Humanity has been liberated after a brutal revolution. The source of all of this is the dark heroism of Byron Solsbury, prophesized Liberator and Stargazer Heretic.

Now comes the difficult part.
Accompanied by his ally Proxos and soul mate Medea, Byron will risk radioactive wastelands and its horrors in a quest to infiltrate New Atlantis, the last remaining Stargazer city. The reasons are twofold: to find the cure for the Killer of Giants—the only disease harmful to vampires—that has mortally infected Medea; and to oversee the destruction of the metropolis and end the Stargazer Empire once and for all.
Within this high-tech structure, Byron will encounter the dreaded Forgotten—vampires that were never human to begin with, as well as their godly allies. It will take all of his skills to counter their razor agendas. Eventually he must face the ruler of New Atlantis—the greatest Stargazer who ever walked Heaven and Earth—and realize that their grim destinies have been intertwined since before the rise of the vampires.

He is known as The Prince of Shadows or simply The Centurion. He once drank the blood of a god incarnate on Earth, and gained the powers of infinity.
As fate unravels before him like a bloody tapestry, Byron Solsbury will realize that not only Earth hangs in the balance…but reality itself.
Enjoy the introduction, although, like the Gospel of Thomas says, it might disturb you to the point you will be amazed. Amazed at the false reality that has been placed over us by the establishment.

Whether or not Lucius succeeds in absorbing the powers of the Godman doesn't matter. Lilith has already began a nefarious plot that will take over 2000 years but will bring about the destruction of civilization, the poisoning of Earth, and the enslavement of mankind. All because of The Mad God who created her and later rejected his most powerful daughter.  INTRODUCTION
I: AD 29Lucius Cornelius met her at the edge of the city. The sky was a swimming gray, eclipsing slowly with the peril of storm. The air was heavy and stale. The wind welled between the huts and rustic buildings in lapping cold. There seemed to be very few people around, for they had all probably gone to the celebration at the mound of skulls. Nothing out of the ordinary. Too out of the ordinary.Except for the fact that he had risen during the day. He existed without harm in the late afternoon below the ceiling of clouds and the silence of a place called Jerusalem.She waited for him around the corner of a house. Lucius could smell fresh slaughter inside by her hand, a whole family and a small meal to her wrath. He had not fed yet, too fascinated with the shock of being able to wander before dusk. It was amazing. More amazing than her at the moment, who stood hidden by heavy robes of darkest canvas, slouched to hide a towering height, only her shining eyes visible.“You are unaffected as well, Whore of Babylon?” A smile broke from his feral, handsome features as he tipped his helmet at her. “How can this be? Have you changed the rules? Does the daylight finally hold pleasure for you?”He could sense her sacred smile, so gorgeous it could melt the soul like idle wax.“Never, sweet Lucius,” she responded. “But we presently have no choice. We can wander because it is the changing of an age; the breath of my enemy is so strong that all the rules are bent for a small spell.”Lucius glanced upward after removing his bronze helmet. “It has been a long time. Two, three hundred years since you took away any chance of me ever seeing the day again. Ah, and it is a cloudy day, by Mars!”“Yes, it is,” she said. “Do you regret what I did to you, sweetest of sweetest?”He laughed with confidence, exposing fangs larger than most of his kind. Thoughts of his travels across the world, the civilizations, the experiences, the gods and heroes encountered tumbled through his mind like the clouds passing in the horizon. From the smoky shores of Gaul all the way to India, from the tip of Africa all the way to kingdom of druids in the icelands. Lucius had seen so much, and enjoyed it. Unlike the other brethren of Her, he savored his state and immortality, thrived with his hunger and dominant attitude. Mortal or not, he was a warrior, and adventurer, a dreamer who made dreams into imposing substance.“Of course not,” he said with a bow. “I can only give you my gratitude. But you did not summon me here for that or to wonder why I can almost see a naked sky away from the night.”She lowered her head slightly. “I think you know why I summoned you, Dearest Lucius.”“I have heard stories on the way to Galilee,” he said. “Silly stories about a certain Jewish prophet. Do you believe them?”“Yes,” she hissed, narrowing eyes that seemed to be made of mellifluous gems. “They are true. He is the one, Lucius. He is the progeny of my enemy, the one who banished me. He is the closet link to him and his dream.”“The Greek philosophers talk about all mortals being his progeny, or having a spark of him like I have an ink drop of your God-soul.”Her fangs glowed through the hood in dark jade hue. “The Greek philosophers spent too much time thinking and play acting, like all mortals, and look where it got them! This is His true avatar, ushering the shift of the wheel of the stars.”Lucius shook his head, glancing down at his sandaled feet. Dust flittered on the ground, welted by random tears of rain.“And we need to take action,” he said. Why did she bother with this deity? There were so many others, battling for creation and its spoils. He was the greatest, the true one? Never!“We must, sweetest. The progeny’s passing will begin a final and grim age, when mankind will spread and The Unimaginable will wilt, fade away with all the creatures of wonder along with the Maya, the tender, the female aspect of creation. You do not understand, for you cannot see what I see, know what I have known when I first came into this aspect of the universe.”“Then why do you not take action?” he asked, never afraid of any question, any comment, any action. Not even to her. “I am a gnat compared to you, Whore of Babylon.”She lowered her head again. “Perhaps I am afraid, Lucius. Afraid to be so close to him again. I need you.”“To do what?”Her gaze was solid yet piercing, urgent yet cunning.“To impede his passing, for when he passes he truly gains power, truly brings about a loophole in the wheel of the stars. To do this, you must go to him and grant him my God-Soul, which I have granted to all of my offspring, sever his bond to my enemy, corrupt his mortality so much he will be partly ours forever.”He pursed his lips slightly. “That is all? This could be dangerous.”“Of course, but I will protect you as long as you follow me. Will you do it?”Never afraid of anything.“I will,” he said loudly. “That is all I have to do?”“Yes,” she said. “You know how to create, how to pass the God-Soul. Go to him and do that, nothing else, do you hear? Stop this age from washing us away. You are my favorite and always will be my favorite, Dearest Lucius. You will succeed. I will succeed.” He donned his helmet and bowed to his mistress. He pivoted on his heel and marched towards the small hill they called Golgotha. Lucius wasn’t worried about the few mortals encountered. The ones called Jews never met his glowing stare or commented on his sallow skin, for he was garbed in the common military uniform of a captain, hand always close to his gladius, the stabbing sword, in warning. Although Lucius was not born a Roman, he had taken that identity from a famous general in Africa, even learning Latin in order to facilitate his movement through the burgeoning empire. The few Roman soldiers on the way saluted him while he lowered his helmet over his features.Lucius worried a bit when he neared the mound of skulls. The earth began to shudder under his feet, the wind turned to smashing pillows against his body.  Mortals rushed by him in fear, clouds cackled with lightning. He could almost feel the world trembling, the horizon blurring, for something was warning him.He does not want you near, he heard the Whore’s voice. He does not want you near his progeny.Lucius kept his pace, undaunted by the elements and terror around him. He reached the open area where three criminals were crucified. All the spectators and soldier that might have been here were now seeking shelter from the pelting rain. He focused on the middle one, knowing immediately it was him. His existence was thinning away but there was some in him yet. Why had he allowed this? After all, this was a common punishment by this empire. The Romans publicly crucified their conquered people in order to make sure no one transgressed against them or broke the law a second time. It was worse for these odd Jews, who saw their race perish naked, which was very shameful to their beliefs, and unburied, which guaranteed eternal damnation. Many crucified lived for days, some fortunate ones asphyxiated quickly, but most bled to death or succumbed to dehydration. The Romans were known to feed the ones they wanted to suffer or just slay the ones who lived for more than a day or two.He would not survive much longer, Lucius thought, seeing a beaten, cut body, filthy with mud and crowned with a thorny reef over his head. This was the progeny of the enemy of his mistress, The Mad God? This prophet did not seem like much, he mused, condemned and abandoned by all he knew at the moment. But he had heard of stories of his powers, his words, his attitude towards the downtrodden and needy. He had heard much traveling to Jerusalem, and for some reason, even with the tempest around them, felt a certain pity for this creature who was being slain for some mystical, unknown reason-- a victim of destiny.“And you will change the ages?” he asked the unmoving body in the center cross. “And you will melt away the wonders of The Unimaginable? Why would you do such a thing?”There was no answer, except for the wind and the thunder and the shouts of fear from those hiding under carts a few feet away. But Lucius stood strong and stable.“But your words are different,” he said. “You bring hope, I hear. You bring a gentleness never experienced in this savage world. Are you a pawn like my mistress was? Cast out after fulfilling your role? Or are you just another charlatan, and the Whore is misguided one more time?”No answer. The weather was calming, all of a sudden. He could feel the last touches of life leaving the progeny. Curiosity rose inside Lucius. He wondered then who was the pawn between the two of them. But he wasn’t afraid.“Perhaps I should find out.” He took a step forward as the body jolted in dying spasms. Craning his head forward, he opened his mouth as blood dripped from many places.NO! He heard her voice, shrill and full of terror. NO, SWEETEST! NOT THAT!Lucius did not listen, sticking out his tongue to catch the liquid. For some reason he had not felt hunger for this person. It did not matter. He wanted to find out the power of the progeny. YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND!!! Droplets of blood touched his tongue. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and suddenly his eyes were wide as he beheld infinity.
I: AD 2239
It was a place so different from the rest of the structure. There was no lighting and there were no mirrors. Mirrors were set everywhere else, in every corridor, in every chamber, in every crevasse and compartment. Mirrors and light. There was no privacy in this place. Privacy was for the weak, for those who had something to hide. Privacy was against the Forgotten. The darkness existed here for more interesting matters besides philosophical bondage. Stretching before and straddling a long alley were metal pens. In these pens resided beings that had never truly seen naked light. They scuttled around curiously, hunched and barely able to contain their feeble weight upon sinewy arms and legs. Their thin, ropy bodies were lathered in their own excrements and slivers of synthetic straw. They could not see the elevator door opening because they had no functioning pupils; they could not smell the two figures that departed the mirrored interior because they had no real odor. But their keen ears instantly detected their watery movement.  Primordial instincts granted them the hope that it was feeding time. That’s all that mattered to them in the grayness of their existence—feeding time. In turn, the two beings could clearly see them, pale lanky things bred here since birth, untouched by the genetic wizardry performed on the ones above in the Kingdom of Mirrors. In The Egg. No, these creatures were natural except for their own nature. As they could not see, they could not truly think, gather light into structure. All they knew was being fed and obeying a few minor bodily urges. They were very unlike the ones the population had heard existed in another city. They were not like the altered armies and servants above. They were pathetic and they were a delicacy. They were called GR27's by the population, but a few called them Veals.If these creatures had eyes they would have seen that the two figures were very distinct from the others. One was elegantly tall, royally thin, draped in long silken robes from a bygone era. His face was majestic, long and daintily noble, with beautiful features that pushed perfection. He had long and pale flaxen hair that almost shone like curdling fog. But it was his eyes that were his true triumph of beauty and intelligence, seasoned with eternal innocence and so much brightness. Like those of his kind, they changed color with mood, yet they were much larger with almost oval pupils. Tonight they were a crystal orange.The other, slumped and hopping right behind him, was much shorter. His clothing was a crude, burlap robe, torn in several places. A hood concealed a face he was used to hiding for thousands of years but it could not hide large round eyes that palpitated with neon green. This one grunted with each step, a sound that could have been mistaken for throttling laughter.The Veals could not have seen this and could not care. In every pen, they huddled close to the cell doors, crafting their own grunting. Perhaps it was feeding time, they hoped. Perhaps these two would throw morsels through the bars, fill their small, aching stomachs. Many couldn’t help but urinate on themselves, while others jumped up and down as if to vault past the barbed wire over the pens.“We really have other matters to address,” the slumped one said with a gritty voice, which made some of the Veals moan even louder. “The Pharisees are waiting for your counsel, Marcion. You lingered in Moratoria for three nights.”The other kept his pace until stopping at the center of the area. By now many of the creatures were slamming into the bars and metal doors, perhaps mad that they had not drank the scent of meat they enjoyed, meat that was from the same creatures they were.“For that reason I require nourishment, Prince Poppykettle,” the one called Marcion said lightly, his vision darting from side to side.“Of course,” Poppykettle mumbled from large cracked lips that were always matted in filmy, thick saliva. “But you know that the other Pharisees might be somewhat interested in your results. The occurrence at Xanadu has worsened. We are curious. You are The Good Neighbor.”Marcion smiled slightly, and the agitated denizens of the pens could have never known that their conversation meant little but symbolism. There was no privacy here. The population of The Egg was listening to every word they spoke and they could see what they saw. The population felt the hunger of Marcion and the sadness of his smile. But the population needed his gift, his visions, which they could not enter or see or use because he was the last of his kind. He was unique, beyond anything that existed centuries before and after the Holocaust. But they needed to converse like they needed rituals in this perfect city, for it was a symbolism of reality, and more than that, it was entertaining.“I understand, Poppykettle,” he said, his liquid voice soothing the Veals slightly. If desired, his voice could easily control their soft minds. “But I needed a delicacy before we all meet. Do you understand as well?”“I do understand as well, Good Neighbor.” He lowered his odd-shaped head and also began feeling hunger. It seemed like the hunger never ended. It was always there, as if it was their true ruler besides their Prince. “But are you aware that we have lost total communication with Xanadu? We’re still receiving those odd transmissions that started six nights ago but that is all.”“I am aware.” He scanned every Veal in the area. The population wondered which one he would choose. The Veals just thought it was feeding time. They were right.“Are you furthermore aware that reconnaissance photographs show less destruction, less movement. It seems the Warm Ones are being driven back to their Farms, as if they’re being herded again. It also seems the Stargazers are also coagulating, as if by leadership. Yet there is still no movement from the remnants of the Tower and Her abode?”“Yes, Poppykettle.”“Then what it is?” he asked, knowing the population was split between his explanation of the catastrophe to the city of Xanadu and which one he would choose. “What happened in that explosion nights ago that shattered the main dome? What happened in Xanadu? Where is The Queen of Darkness?”Marcion narrowed his eyes and took a few paces towards one of the doors. Poppykettle was shaking behind him, foamy liquid coming from his flat nostrils. The population wondered. The animals wondered as well. It was feeding time.“You remember her prophecy, Prince Poppykettle?” Marcion asked, placing his hands on one of the pen-doors. “Do you remember what she told us when we were brought to this city, this county of her empire?”“Yes, Good Neighbor,” Poppykettle said between nervous giggles. “We all think of it night after night...her words sing to us through Moratoria and the din of our starvation.”His fingers flexed with a cracking sound while he spoke, wrenching the Veals into a frenzy. The sound was like bones breaking. It had to be feeding time! If they only knew how excited the population was. If they could only have seen what Marcion saw when he briefly turned his head towards the end of the pens.Marcion spoke the prophecy anyway, because they needed to hear it again, from his lips. “If a knight should come, a champion of eternity, errant on a darkening quest, knocking on your gates, then you should let him in...” “Yes, yes,” Poppykettle closed his eyes, but light still seeped from underneath puffy lids. “I remember...” “And if he bests the Warden and drinks in generations with the Centurion, then he must be stripped of his sword, his shield, and armor...” “Yes, Yes!” The population also joined in.“And brought naked like a newborn into the gray dusk, into the awakening of our Prince.”             “Yes, Yes!” said Poppykettle, jumping up and down, his movement similar to the other Veals. “But what does that have to do with Xanadu? What does that have to do with The Queen of Darkness?”And none except the Good Neighbor saw an image of somebody laying at the end of the corridor, bound to a cross and thinking about being born between ages. None saw the image fade away suddenly, leaving only whispers of eternal sadness, of potential freedom.Marcion opened the door. An animal scuttled towards him with its stringy body on all fours, face hopeful, hungry. The sound of the door meant they brought a lot of food. Pale and blind, it didn’t understand time or thought, just nourishment. It was feeding time. It stopped right in front of the Pharisee. It wasn’t even fifteen yet. The perfect age for a Veal.And it was the perfect time to share his visions with the population.“It has nothing to do with her, Prince Poppykettle, good citizens of New Atlantis, because she has departed our universe.”“No!” he said this time with the population.No, no, no! Yes! “Yes, Poppykettle,” Marcion said, grinning to show fangs that marked his own hunger and what he truly was, even though he had never been a Warm One. “The Queen of Darkness is no more.”“Good Neighbor.” Poppykettle took a step in surprised retreat. “That...that cannot be--”Marcion entered the small space. “Yes, it can. I have searched the winds and the sighs of creation, and she is nowhere to be found.”“Then how can we exist? Without the Dark Instinct, we would crumble into dust.”“So it would seem,” Marcion said casually. “But nothing is ever as it seems after the Holocaust. Something to look into, unless we’re a fading dream from empty husks.”“It cannot be! What happened to her?”Yes, Yes!The Veal moved its head to touch the outstretched hand of Marcion. The fanged smile grew, as his soft fingers caressed the animal’s face. The Veal smiled back.            “I do not know that, as yet either, Prince Poppykettle. I will have to search more. But I know of one thing—we shall have many visitors coming to our gates for sanctuary. Thus, we might have a knight, a champion of eternity among them.” His fingers prodded into the Veal’s clumpy hair, suddenly tugging so hard the animal yelped. The creature could not fight the arm that brought it towards the mouth of the Good Neighbor. “And thus, we might finally realize the prophecy and have our freedom, finally have our time.”It was feeding time.The rest of the Veals knew that too, but it wasn’t their feeding time. They cowered towards the back when they heard a pitiful scream, not knowing that the other figure ran excitedly towards the elevator weeping crimson tears of bursting joy, knowing not to turn his head for it was not allowed to observe the Good Neighbor when feeding. The scream quickly turned into a ripping sound. The population groaned in pleasure, also having to shut out the tasty vision. Yes, yes, yes...freedom!

Heretic The Novel Has Arrived!

After many years and thousands sold, the sequel to The Queen of Darkness/Stargazer is finally here. 

It's entitled Heretic, and it reveals a universal message that each one of us has become a heretic in our minds and cultures. 

If you thought the first installment of The Dark Instinct Series was disturbing, philosophical, and inspirational, you ain't drank enough blood yet, oh Truthseekers. Byron's physical and psychic was against Lilith, The MoonQueen, is but a prelude to even more cosmic villains.

You can purchase Heretic in print and kindle, or at Barnes & Noble. Also available in Europe, including Amazon UK. That's correct-- get started with what many consider one of the greatest and transcendental sci-fi epics.

As dark celebration, the first book in the series, Stargazer, will is available at no charge.

Just go to the Stargazer folder at the Aeon Byte Gnostic Radio and click the icon you want (which includes the first four chapters of Heretic). Click the 'DETAILS' button to download. Enjoy and despair and the same time!

Either way, I will be posting excerpts very soon. And you can find plenty of Stargazer excerpts available.

Let the liberation of not only humanity but reality begin.

Heretic The Novel Has Finally Arrived!

After many years and thousands sold, the sequel to The Queen of Darkness/Stargazer is finally here.
It's entitled Heretic, and it reveals a universal message that each one of us has become a heretic in our minds and cultures. 


If you thought the first installment of The Dark Instinct Series was disturbing, philosophical, and inspirational, you ain't drank enough blood yet, oh Truthseekers. Byron's physical and psychic was against Lilith, The MoonQueen, is but a prelude to even more cosmic villains. 


You can purchase Heretic in print and kindle. The Nook version should be out soon.
As dark celebration, the first book in the series, Stargazer, will be available at no charge for the month of February. Also available in Europe, including Amazon UK. That's correct-- get started with what many consider one of the greatest and transcendental sci-fi epics.

Just go to the STARGAZER folder at the Aeon Byte Gnostic Radio and click the icon you want (which includes the first four chapters of Heretic). Click the 'DETAILS' button to download. Enjoy and despair and the same time!

Either way, I will be posting excerpts very soon. And you can find plenty of Stargazer excerpts already for you.

Let the liberation of not only humanity but reality begin!

Heretic the Novel is Finally Here & Free Giveaway on Stargazer

After many years and thousands sold, the sequel to The Queen of Darkness/Stargazer is finally here.
It's entitled Heretic, and it reveals a universal message that each one of us has become a heretic in our minds and cultures. 


If you thought the first installment of The Dark Instinct Series was disturbing, philosophical, and inspirational, you ain't drank enough blood yet, oh Truthseekers. Byron's physical and psychic was against Lilith, The MoonQueen, is but a prelude to even more cosmic villains. 


You can purchase Heretic in print and kindle. The Nook version should be out soon.
As dark celebration, the first book in the series, Stargazer, will be available at no charge for the month of February. That's correct-- get started with what many consider one of the greatest and transcendental sci-fi epics.

Just go to the STARGAZER folder at the Aeon Byte Gnostic Radio and click the icon you want (which includes the first four chapters of Heretic). Click the 'DETAILS' button to download. Enjoy and despair and the same time!

Either way, I will be posting excerpts very soon. And you can find plenty of Stargazer excerpts already for you.

Let the liberation of not only humanity but reality begin!

HERETIC FINALLY ALMOST READY, CHECK OUT THE COVER

After over a decade and over 10,000 people waiting, the sequel to The Queen of Darkness/Stargazer is almost ready for publication. Although I named it The Prince of Shadows for years, the second installment of The Dark Instinct Series had to be called Heretic. The reason for the title are sundry, especially for those who know my other works in the Esoterica. But the reality is that like Stargazer the sequel deals with incendiary issues relevant to our times, as well as universal ones. We are all being turned into heretics, outcasts even as the establishment makes our very thoughts blasphemous. And like the protagonist, Byron Solsbury, it's time to fight back even if the battle seems hopeless. I think you'll fully understand once you read Heretic.


Stargazer was also about how we can regain the best part of humanity, even if we have walked in darkness and ignorance for most of our existences. Heretic is about recalling our divinity, and the great reward yet great price we must pay to touch the face of the gods. The cover says it all, but the story says even more. I had always envisioned this cover. The trope of Jesus being a vampire has been floating around for a while in the hipster community; I took it the ultimate conclusion...and that's just to start of the plot.


Melinda McCullen did an outstanding job on the cover, capturing that psychedelic look fantasy and science fiction books had in their philosophical heydays of the sixties and seventies. She also brandished it with that Graphic Novel DNA we both saw in the saga of these unique, infernal gods. She worked very hard, always keeping every option on the table. I am eternally grateful to Lin for the cover, as well as the cover for Stargazer that she worked on with my mercurial friend Jordan Stratford. And who says Gnostics only sit around arguing about the nature of reality and being human!


Here it is. Here is the next challenge to Byron Solsbury, our dark messiah, antihero, and champion of a thousand paradises lost.


 
Here is the black burb, and I'll shut up. Oh, Heretic will be available in hard copy or e-book:


A DAMNED KNIGHT RIDES TO MEET THE BLOOD MESSIAH
The Stargazer capital Xanadu has been destroyed. The immortal ruler of vampires, The MoonQueen, has been vanquished. Humanity has been liberated after a brutal revolution. The source of all of this is the dark heroism of Byron Solsbury, prophesized Liberator and Stargazer Heretic.
Now comes the difficult part.
Accompanied by his ally Proxos and soul mate Medea, Byron will risk radioactive wastelands and its horrors in a quest to infiltrate New Atlantis, the last remaining Stargazer city. The reasons are twofold: to find the cure for the Killer of Giants—the only disease harmful to vampires—that has mortally infected Medea; and to oversee the destruction of the metropolis and end the Stargazer Empire once and for all.
Within this high-tech structure, Byron will encounter the dreaded Forgotten—vampires that were never human to begin with, as well as their godly allies. It will take all of his skills to counter their razor agendas. Eventually he must face the ruler of New Atlantis—the greatest Stargazer who ever walked Heaven and Earth—and realize that their grim destinies have been intertwined since before the rise of the vampires.
He is known as The Prince of Shadows or simply The Centurion. And he once drank the blood of a god incarnate on Earth, and gained the powers of infinity.
As fate unravels before him like a bloody tapestry, Byron Solsbury will realize that not only Earth hangs in the balance…but reality itself.

 DON'T FORGET YOU CAN READ PLENTY OF EXCERPTS OF STARGAZER OR DOWNLOAD THE FIRST FOUR CHAPTERS AT NOT COST

Stargazer Review by The Magical Messiah

Thomas Allogenes of The Magical Messiah has given Stargazer an in depth and positive review. Since he comes from the Gnostic point of view like me, he digs under the hood for the philosophical and esoteric meanings of the novel. Here is an excerpt:


Compare the semi-conscious mindgames of Twilight, however, with the vampires of Stargazer: predatory violence hidden behind a veneer of civilization, wanton cruelty masked by "necessity". In Miguel Conner's literary hellscape, humans are little more than talking livestock, cattle with culture. Vampires—who refer to themselves by the more romantic title of "Stargazers"—raise them on farms, herd them into slaughterhouses, and kill them in an industrialized fashion. The Stargazers took the land over by destruction: they unleashed military power on humanity and reworked the world so that it was only by their vampiric will and technology that humanity could survive at all. Sound familiar at all? Miguel Conner, in the grand tradition of Phillip K. Dick, uses weird horror, sci-fi, supernatural tropes not to pull us away from the world, but to point us back toward it. Conner's "vampires" are simply the worst elements of ourselves, of humanity, of intelligence and culture. We pretend to be civilized, but we are killers. We insist that we are unique among all of creation, and yet we behave toward one another and the other creatures of this planet no better than the lowest of beasts. And yet, there is no room for pessimism. Even if everything is terrible, if we look deeply within and bring with us the full force of both intellect and intuition, we will find a rationally workable something which, if we identify ourselves with that instead of with our animal bodies and passions will save us. And if we first can save ourselves, perhaps we can help others, too. And this time, really help them—unselfishly, not merely because it aids our own survival but because the Good demands it!


The Gnostic themes in Stargazer are thick but not heavy; if you know what to look for, they're mostly pretty obvious, although by and large they are woven into the narrative such that they don't jar you out of the action. And there is plenty of action. As a vacation read, Stargazer works: there is enough going on all the time that even without any interest in the overt Gnostic ideas, there is still plenty of story to keep the reader hooked. In fact, I passed my copy off to my father, who has no real religious leaning at all, and he's presently enjoying it as a great sci-fi romp! It is a rare novel which can facilitate the transfer of ideas while still flowing like a story should.

Thomas does mention that there are grammatical errors, as did Tessa Dick, mainly because of my betraying publisher who I broke from right as the book was coming out. It was a confusing time, but now I hope to get that handful of errors fixed by hiring a copy editor, who will also assist me in the upcoming sequel, Heretic .

But in the end, he really liked it, finishing the review with:

Fun, intense, and thought-provoking, it provides something no matter what you're looking for, even a bit of romance!


Also check out the Review by Tessa Dick
And the review by David Rankine

Purchase Stargazer before the even more disturbing and enlightening Heretic comes out this fall!

Great Review of Stargazer from It's A Philip K. Dick World

Tessa Dick, author on her own right and widow of the late, great Philip K. Dick, has written a positive review of Stargazer at her Blog. Certainly a feather in the book's cap. It's interesting that she mentions two points, besides the novel being so disturbing, that so many other readers have mentioned:

1. You can't put it down.
2. Byron is a monstrous villain that is endearing and touching, even before his redemption.

Here is an excerpt from her review:

"In a post-apocalyptic world, Stargazers raise Warm Ones on farms, harvest them for their blood and use them for sport. The best literature leads us to feel sympathy for the villain, but in this novel the villain is also the hero, which increases our sympathy to an excruciating level. We get a look at ourselves through the looking glass of the night sky."  


I guess like any hero or anti-hero, he reveals the best and worst in each of us. You can the rest of the review here .

Besides all the reviews on the main page and throughout the years, don't forget David Rankine's recent great review .

And don't forget to buy Stargazer . Remember, the sequel, Heretic, comes out this fall. You'll want to know how this apocalyptic, philosophical and poignant vampire tales continues. And whether Byron stays touching and endearing.