Dark Vision

Over the winter months I self-published a physical zine called Dark Vision. It contains the 4 pieces:


Nannette, Host Body Malfunction, Happy Place, and Children of Jubliex


You can scroll down or view December 2022 for the 4 pieces.


If you are visiting my blog from a QR code from Silver Mysteries of Night, you can find the 4 poems in the September section of 2022


I have also been writing a couple of articles for another local blog professionally which can be found at these links:

What is Art?  https://b-townblog.com/2022/11/15/introducing-new-column-art-corner-which-asks-what-is-art/

For Whom the Bell Tolls: https://b-townblog.com/2022/11/21/art-corner-for-whom-the-bell-tolls-at-vision-2022/

Happy Place

For many people there is a place of desire, a paradise to imagine. They dream of warm ocean waves and a beach with sand and drinks, perhaps a tropical landscape with beautiful people and no stress. Perhaps the happy place is a memory of youth, where life was glimmering with the joys of family and the ease of a different life.


For some their happy place is remembered when times are rough, when the turbulence of the world is rocking them around. This happy place can be anything from anywhere. It would be the peaks of mountains, overlooking a small world beneath. It could be a comfortable cottage with fresh bed sheets and a cup of hot chocolate. A happy place doesn’t need to be real, just a little place in your head, some tucked away memory where the world is warm and bright.


I have a happy place, but it isn’t anywhere, or anything.


My happy place is far away, like a cave leading deep underground. A place where the darkness has no hint of light, and the depths of the cave have not been explored. My happy place is out in space, behind the stars and under the Sun, a dark ocean without waves or tides.


My happy place has no one there, no people or cars, no buildings, or roads. There are no airplanes in the sky rolling their thunder over the horizon. There are no coffee shops or small conversations. There are no deadlines, no pressure for deliverables. While this place is similar to a peaceful beach or quiet mountain top retreat, there are no people in this happy place.


There is no one to notice any details in this darkness or distinguish the outline of a cave wall. There are no eyes to see any features or fingers to feel the environment. There are no ears to hear voices, or chimes of cell phones. There are no clothes or blankets, no warmth or chill, no skin to crawl, nor bones to break. There is simply a dark and far-away feeling.


There are no dreams to decay, there is no expectation to achieve, no pleasure to feel, it is joy in absence. There is no return to a memory which fades over the years, no place to yearn for at the equator. There are no hills to climb or locations to seek out. There is no imagination required. I can go to my happy place whenever I want, there is no cognitive key, no access required, no mental space to travel, I just leave.


Sometimes I go there before I go to sleep, to help let my brain cool down from the day. I turn off the circuits in my head and empty them into this dark place. I tell my thoughts and ideas to wait for me, and that I’ll be right back, I have this errand to run at this faraway place, deep underground, or perhaps behind the veil of night where a greater darkness awaits. I tell my thoughts and ideas they can go on without me, that I’ll catch up, that I’ll find some shortcut to the problem when I get back.


There always seems to be room to forget, room to escape, and the abundance of space forces me outwards, and I fall away.


I fall from the dark and the light. I fall from the sky and the city. I fall from my bones and my breath. I fall until everything is distant and tiny. When things cannot get any smaller, or perhaps when the happy place cannot get any larger; everything disappears. The world has no voice and no motion. The Earth has no spin and travels nowhere. The Moon becomes a small dot, then dissolves into the night. The stars grow dull and diminish until there is nothing left.


I don’t know how long I stay in my happy place, there are no clocks to remind me. There is no change on the spotless horizon. I stay there for a while until the urgency of life calls me back, through some alarm clock or dim desire. I come up from the dark ocean, from deep underneath.


I return to the pain of life and the dread of death. I return to the lash and the lacerate of my heartbeat. I become animated by the movement of my body and the rush of urgency. Instinct and thought fill my head and pour out of my mouth. I can tell I am back in the Land of the Living and continue about my business. I greet all the ideas I left and remember the things I have yet to do.


Deep down in my bones I can still feel my happy place, distant and far away.

Children of Jubilex

There is a creature, deep in the Abyss, near the bottom of a dark and murky gutter. The cultists who follow this creature call the monstrance Jubilex, the lord of slimes, jellies, and oozes.


Unknown to most of the cultists, Jubilex is more than just a mountain of eyes and weeping mucus. Jubilex is a cruel shadow, made from the toxic waste of progress and technology. Every landfill, garbage bin and abandoned barrel of chemicals flows into the realm of Jubilex. Every year the creature grows larger, and occasionally spawns what might be considered an offspring.


These children take many shapes, and some take no shapes at all. Sometimes they are gelatinous cubes who hunt the caverns of subterranean worlds, feeling their way through the felspar passageways for organic material to digest. Even though they have no brain or nervous system, they exhibit a predatory intelligence capable of clever solutions. Older cubes will turn iridescent, shifting colors rapidly, and are able to communicate with jellyfish, octopi, and luminous squid.


There are also offspring who appear human. They have a large variety of features, and rarely keep the same face for long. They are indistinguishable from human beings unless cut. Rather than blood, a clear slime flows from their wounds. This slime will poison those who smell or touch the mucus.


Within recent history a lady named Gloria Ramirez stubbled into a hospital in a sublime confusion. She was dying from cervical cancer. However, the staff soon noticed a toxic presence when they took blood samples. They began to suffer from the lethal vapors of her body. Before she died, 23 people were hospitalized with respiratory conditions. This occurred on February 19, 1994.


Occasionally the children of Jubilex are born with spiteful intelligence, fully aware of their parentage. They are filled with vorpal malice, they will wear the shapes of demons, devils, or creatures covered in sores and wounds. They will cut themselves and weep upon the earth, scouring it with their putrid blood.

Some take the form of shadows, bleak and long with the despair of the future. They cast their spite over the pillars of society, pulling the walls of civilization down. They gnaw and eat at the foundations of existence, pulling the world back into darkness.


The variety of the children of Jubilex has never been completely categorized and there are many kinds of slime and shadow unseen by human eyes. However, those who tend and nurture the growth of these creatures are usually human; the cultists of Jubilex.


Jubilex’s human followers have found a way to sense the mind of the slime lord, and in their madness proclaimed the intentions of the great abysmal shadow. In the depths of dark dreams and hot nightmares, deep where the living can see the darkness beyond, the message can be clearly heard.


Jubilex strives for a single purpose; to undo creation, to unravel existence, to kill all things, without regrowth or rebirth. To Jubilex, the children, and the cultists, existence itself is a wound in the heart of silence. Even without a conscious mind, the slimes and oozes gather to crawl over the sky, dissolving the holy light, striving to eat the stars in a banquet of decay.


One of these great oozes is a siliceous ooze created 538 million years ago by the Radiolarians and Diatoms. The great siliceous ooze lives on the bottom of the ocean eating the remains of creatures who float down to the bottom, dissolving them. They are assisted by shrimp, crabs, worms, and other bottom feeders. The ooze looks up from the dark waters, knowing the light burns in the sky above.


Each year the children of Jubilex gather for a feast, bringing the remains of the most delicate meals to share with the demon lord. They offer the wings of angels, the feet of rabbits, the horns of unicorns, the feathers of falcons, the broken eyes of the hopeful, the stones of temples, the seeds of extinction, ashes of ruin, the tears of betrayal, the hidden graves of saints, rusted barrels of radioactive waste, anything fallen from the pillars of existence. Every failure is celebrated, every tragedy praised, every grief is thrown upon the table for consumption.


Jubilex eats them all, and the eyes upon its skin begin to weep.

Host Body Malfunction

Having a host body takes a little explanation when meeting new people. Sometimes I meet them, and the next day I look completely different, although it’s still me on the inside. I remember all the details, and my personality is intact, my mannerisms, even little pauses in my speech.



I can feel the host body underneath, they are stuck in a dream. They can feel hunger, fear, excitement, heat, cold, anything in the realm of reflexes. If the body is attracted to someone, I can feel the reaction. If the body is reminded of death, or feels threatened, I can feel it deep in my bones, underneath.



I am still in control of course. I can make decisions about everything, but the host body can’t be ignored. If they get too hungry, they become harder to suppress. They will lash out from underneath their nightmare, they will crave, desire, burn with urgency. This makes control more difficult.



Typically, I can keep the host body stable and satisfied. It slumbers sweetly, unaware of the choices I am making. The host body can’t see through my eyes, it can’t conceive the sounds I hear, or understand the words I say. I don’t usually have access it the host body’s memories. I could probably go digging around, but the terror of such an invasion is more trouble than its worth. I find the smoothest ride is a gentle diet of good food and plenty of sleep.



Sometimes the host body has a malfunction.



They can develop an illness, or a mortal disease. The body will begin to shut down, and pain grows like a swell of tears. Their mind begins to unravel, lashing out in confusion. This can cause many problems with maintaining control. Speech will be interrupted, and sleep will be increasingly difficult.



When a host body begins to malfunction, there are a few techniques which can help. The first is to simple snuff out the host body’s mind. This can be done by directly sharing thoughts with them. They will drown in a nightmare and never wake up. This means I must rely on direct observation of physical problems rather than listening to the under currents.



If the malfunction is temporary, it can be easier to indulge in hedonistic pleasure instead, making the decay process easier for the host. Take them on a long vacation to a warm place with lots of food and comfortable beds. After the malfunction is fixed, I return to my typical habits.



If the host body is beyond repair, then it's time to find a new host.

Finding a new body has its own set of issues. The biggest problem is finding a body without too many people nearby, not physical proximity, but emotional bonds. If they have too many people in their lives like partners, children, close friends, they can tell the difference right away. A child can sense the physical mannerisms easily and loved ones can tell when I’m faking my way through conversations.



An isolated person works best. They will have fewer people to notice. I try to keep an eye on 2-3 replacement host bodies. I’ll wait for a good time, like a traumatic event, or an expected change, like a divorce or car accident. People in their lives accept whatever changes they express as part of processing their experience. Meanwhile I begin to gather my resources again and continue my own interests.



I tell people I use host bodies, it's no secret. Most say they believe me, although people believe whatever those nearby believe. They believe in Santa Claus, God, Karma, Astrology, Justice, even the strength of family. So, I don’t take their belief seriously, they can’t help themselves.

Nannette

There was once a little girl named Nannette, born in a small rural town. Her parents had a large house converted from an old barn. The house was added to, augmented, and given many rooms. Her parents considered it a mansion. Nannette was born with a full head of thick black hair. Her parents never brushed her hair, which covered her face in a tangled mess.


Her parents neglected Nannette. Their tragic preoccupation with themselves meant Nannette was left to her own imagination. Neither of her parents checked under the bed for monsters, or in her closest. They put in a night light, but never said good night, they commanded her to go to her room and go to sleep.


They had more important things to do.


Nannette learned very early that she could get her parent’s attention by misbehaving. She would break a glass cup or a plate, and they would scold her and send her to her room. She would scratch the table, or knock a vase of flowers over, inciting the anger of her parents.


They called her a little monster, a bad girl. Predictably they sent her to her room and said she couldn’t come out until they called for her. Nannette knew they rarely checked her room, and would hide somewhere else in the house, often near the kitchen She would listen to their complaints and frustrations of her parents as they discussed adult things she didn’t understand.


Nannette was never called back downstairs; her parents were happy she was gone. They would leave food on the table, knowing she would eventually come out of her room. After all she was a bad girl and wouldn’t stay in her room.


Then she got old enough for school. She wasn’t very good at making friends or following rules. She broke the rules to get attention from the teacher. Her interactions with the other students were equally negative. She would bite them or steal their toys when they weren’t looking. Her favorite thing to do was break toys, which caused all sorts of crying.


This escalated over the years until she reached puberty and fights with kids got more serious. Her hair grew all over her body, covering her arms and legs. She even grew hair on her cheeks. Her teeth were crooked, and her spine bent. She was called a freak, a monster, even a demon. Then a bloody fight with a classmate got her expelled, and she was sent to another school.

Nannette by this point in her life was taller and stronger than anyone in her class. The new school was full of other children who were expelled. For the first time Nannette started to empathize with others, they too had issues, they held their heads down and walked the same way she did.


This new school opened Nannette’s mind. She started to learn about math and history, and most of all, books. She loved books, and reading books took her somewhere else. She could read them for hours after being sent to her room.


Books and reading provided an escape from the real world. She enjoyed books about werewolves the most, empathizing with the hairy creatures. She liked the fairytale called Rapunzel, where a princesses had hair so long, she could escape a tall tower. She also liked the mythical figure of a Medusa, whose hair was a nest of snakes, and whose gaze could turn people into stone.



Near the end of high school her parents died in a car accident. There was no funeral. Nannette was told the house was being sold and a social worker would be finding place for her to live. There was no family on record for her to go live with. Nannette didn’t want to leave her home, so she hid in her room, and stopped going to school. When the social worker came around, she didn’t answer the door. When a locksmith was called and the house searched, Nannette hit in her secret places inside the walls. She thought of herself as Medusa in her cave, or a werewolf being hunted. She fled to her tall tower and locked the doors.


There was a search in the neighborhood, there was a missing person’s report, and there was an apathetic investigation by police. They found nothing, and the house was sold by the bank. The sprawling rural mansion never got purchased by anyone. Over time urban legends sprung up about a werewolf living in the mansion and howling during a full moon.


Then one day a film crew came to the mansion with a psychic. They were investigating the haunted mansion, in pursuit of the rumors. They brought cameras and recording equipment. The psychic was brought to communicate with any angry ghosts who lived in the house. Nannette disliked the intruders and broke their equipment and left little notes to terrify the psychic. She left pieces of paper with the words like “demon”, “monster”, and “Nannette”.


Then one night, the psychic called out the name Nannette, calling her to come down from her room to talk to the camera. They wanted to know all about her. Nannette came down, dressed in clean clothes, and brushed hair. Since she was called by name, she was a good girl and talked with the film crew. She told them all about her school and her parents. She talked about being a werewolf and running through the fields at night under the full moon when people could see her. Nannette had never had so much positive attention. She decided to brush her hair every day thereafter. -The End