15 days in and its already like the holiday season never happened! Following an iPad upgrade I’ve been thinning out the apps, trying to only load what is essential. This includes Flipboard, Dropbox and Manuscript. Also a great new app called Mixel which instantly brings out your inner collager! You can see an example I
Verbal Narcotics was first published in 1989 and has been totally revised for the Kindle edition. Many of the poems had been previously published in magazines such as Moonstone, First Time, The Morpo Review and New Hope International. Some had also appeared in Songs of the Skin, a series of 13 poems published by Salford
Robert Rankin (on the right) at the largest Steampunk festival in Europe. I managed to get to the front of the book signing queue and became the proud owner of signed poster 1/250 above. He also personally inscribed a copy of his latest novel, Mechanical Messiah (above). I’ve been a fan of his ‘far fetched
Follow the adventures of Lord Jonathan Void, his daughter Lady Elizabeth and a cast of Victorian gentry and villany including the mysterious Magister, K’Lar, the gentleman ape, Vice-Marshall Abrahams and Lieutant Greaves. Be astonished at the might of the rail steam jugernaut The Imperium and the commercial shannanigans of Crystal. Gasp at the strange behaviours of the people of the Court of Paris and the modern wonder that is the Channel Bridge.
Thee Lord Ov Misrule is a new short story written especially for the holiday season and published in Estronomicon magazine. Its based in the world of The Cabal, my band of time-traveling, paranormal investigating misfits who on occasion include the vampyre N’Tarran. Of course, vampyre is a term I use extremely loosely for N’Tarran is
The Janus Machine, a new introduction to the mechanics of successful time management.
Not one but TWO special events for the Winter Solstice! An album release from Gothick and a new short story, A Christmas in Brompton, published in Estronomicon. “a whole bazaar of pleasure to be found in his lyrics” – Ellen Simpson, Hierophant Nox “Gothick’s genuine talent and instinct for classic rock, with their warm, magical
I Ernst’s ample pagan horns Transumute sunlight into blocks of lead Pierce the pure cobalt horizon With dread, forbidden longing. Cats, cats Everywhere cats On the rooftops of Paris Larger than life, That’s how the grafitti writers Wanted them Bold and beautiful Perhaps making urban skylines Bright again. They creep into the lives of contemporary
Dusk is riding the London Eye Dropping into the Thames, Rising upon the Embankment Wearing the night-black body Of a crouching, lazy Sphinx. In secret illumination The obelisk beacon is lit Black light pouring its hieroglyphics Unseen across the rippling waters. Fallen leaves, A desert floor of golden heat Reaches out Beneath the feet Of
I REALLY DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE ©Sean Woodward photo credit: fatllama Those were the last six words he ever heard her speak. Anjers suspected, looking back, it was a spinning-tumbler, drum-roll, broken-lock combination of ever darkening events that had led them to that place. Her husband,for example. The sight of his body – dislocated, twisted.
