FOUNDATION and CREED I advocate for a new unification in the Western Arts. I do not think that this is a trivial enterprise to undertake. No mere bohemian commune or Expressionist enclave, nor some flowery garden where one can paint Monetesque water lilies to the hearts content in idyllic splendor. Rather it will be a… Continue reading The New Magisterium: A Manifesto
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Who is this pacifist I hear the baying crowds clangorously hail like some ostentatious and foppish sage of yore? For a certainty, whatever it is it's not a man. A man worthy of the word would never be so spineless and stupid as to adopt such a patently immoral ideology. When struck, the pacifist says,… Continue reading Raise High Thy Banner of Strife
Conflux Clair Andretti awoke at the crack of dawn, dressed hurriedly and took the bus to campaign headquarters. The bus rumbled along with an uneven clomping, moving more like some great drunken beast than a properly operational transportation was filled with immigrants as usual, all dark eyes and brown eyes and self congression. They eyed… Continue reading The Iron Garden: Part.5
AIKEN LAYNE The Cafe Noir's small, mahogany confines smelled of tobacco smoke and leather, cigarette ash and java beans, a small gaggle of hipsters lounging about the counter at the front of the store, chatting with the staff whilst the old men, with their fat hands and wrinkled foreheads, puffed their fragrant belicoso's and cursed… Continue reading The Iron Garden Part.4
Stirrings Barren was the plain upon which she stood, pale-nude and swathed in the wind, raw-howling out across that rutted waste. The forms rose soundlessly from the ashen sand, porcelain masks glistening bone-white beneath the moon. Unease and silence so total that she felt the world itself had ceased it's celestial transit. Then a cracking… Continue reading The Iron Garden: Part.3
Moon-blood The city buzzed like a noise-struck hornet, skittering round a white-hot light. The sound pouring forth from beneath the shade of jagged, phallic highrises, behind which grumbled ramshackle factories discharging grim, hellish plumes of living charcoal up into the darkening, moonless sky. A man stood backlit by moon in that blasted district, silent as… Continue reading The Iron Garden: Part.2