The Grand Tapestry: 07/01/2023

Monday, July 31, 2023

Secret Prompt

There are times when a really special piece is crafted on a first attempt; this is one such:

The prompt is a portion of text from the second book.

Sunday, July 30, 2023

Русская тоска, Захватывающее кинематографическое мастерство

Saturday, July 29, 2023

Bighorn -- My first Gouache painting

Friday, July 28, 2023

Hand-drawn Artwork

All content of text and images are:

Thursday, July 27, 2023

Picture This: Victorian/Edwardian Edition

Wednesday, July 26, 2023

Picture This: An AI-interpretation of a lyric-excerpt

While the lyrics the AI printed are fragmentary and jumbled, the image is pretty; silly machines.

2004 now 2023

THREADCUTTER-

A poem about Lthrus X'a

All in the moulden gloom

Full stealthily we glide;

For all our oars, with practised skill

By armoured arms are plied,

While silent hands do speak long sentence

Of our incursion thus to guide.

Ah, sweet Three! In such an hour,

Beneath the silvery moons,

To beg command of breath to still

My agents of ready doom.

Yet what can one commander do

Against three weaving looms?

Insidious Alvia rushes forth

Her gesture, "Let's begin it!"

In subtler signs Vekundra notes

"There'll be bloodshed in it!"

Wise Terizha adds naught to tell

But dashes forth to win it.

Anon, to sudden screaming won,

In frenzy they pursue

The traitor-kin moving through a land

Of dangers odd and new,

In friendly chat with brute and thief--

And dark-sired ties renewed.

And ever, as the veins drained

The wells of living dry,

And faintly strove the wounded ones

To pull their broken bodies by,

'To rest for a while, to regain my breath...'

The dying voices cry.

Thus the tales of sanguine deeds did run

Thus slowly, drop by drop,

Many throbbing brains were hammered out--

And now those lives are done,

And home we row, a merry band,

Before the rising sun.

Lthrus... A waking dream did take,

And with strangler's hand,

Pried it from where Childhood's fears were mired

In Memory's shifting sand.

Like the villans' withered sheathes in pallor

Cured in that arid land.

A boat beneath the fading sky,

Meandering onward dreamily

In an evening fleet and spry--

Killers three nestled near

Lifeless eye; unhearing ear

Upon a current bourn here--

Long has dawned the fiery sky

Glories fade and flesh does fry

Thus three killers in a boat arrived

Still she haunts me, shadow-wise,

Lthrus stalking under skies

Never seen by sane men's eyes.

A killer yet, her tale to bear,

With anxious eye and priq'd-up ear

Watchingly I shall settle near.

In wonderment -- the fourth -- I die,

Dying as the moons fly by,

Dying as my lovers' cry:

Ever drifting down in scream--

Lingering in the silver gleam--

My life, what was it but a dream?

Tuesday, July 25, 2023

Sunday, July 23, 2023

Excerpt: Harren first speaks with Weeping Shards

"Shards, wake to my voice, my blade."

A red warmth twined Harren's body from soles to crown, and a black chill nibbled his bones and whispered a wicked hush into his ears.

-- "My beloved Harren. This our first dialogue, a milestone; let it not be our last, love.
-- "How may I serve thee, master?"

Saturday, July 22, 2023

New Pinterest for the Novel Series Setting: Green Ruins & Shallow Blues

Green Ruins & Shallow Blues
(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis All Rights Reserved

Pinterest Link

I'm writing Book Two on my sister's tablet after the doors are locked, and handwriting in the hours prior, as well. I send myself the updated Word file and then snap photos of my handwritten portions. Weird workflow, but such is life.

Thursday, July 20, 2023

Even Hell has its Heroes Art Piece

From The Ninth Gate

Baroness Kessler:
My latest work: "The Devil: History and Myth" - a kind of biography. It will be published early next year.
Dean Corso:
Why the devil?
Baroness Kessler:
[laughs]
I saw him one day. I was fifteen years old, and I saw him as plain as I see you now. It was love at first sight.
Dean Corso:
You know, 300 years ago, you'd have been burned at the stake for saying something like that.
Baroness Kessler:
300 years ago I wouldn't have said it!

Wednesday, July 19, 2023

Sunday Memories of Water, and, a Poem and Picture of Fire

One of those rare times I'm listening to something other than WitchHouse while writing. This is a recurring Sunday memory of mine when my father used to play records on the old hi-fi media cabinet, and later, component system. Serge Gainsbourg and Georges Moustaki. This is my favourite Moustaki, as it is also one we listened to in Brazilian Portuguese, also a Sunday sound.

Les eaux de Mars
The Waters of March

Les eaux de Mars

Got some of my frustration off my chest airing it to my sister and brother in law about the change from car and work to hoofing it to bus and work while ill and not enough food and so forth. Steps are being enacted to resolve those things which can be solved or ameliorated. Feels better giving them voice.

I'm already writing the second book while wrapping up the first, revisiting parts from other characters PoVs and tying up loose ends. The second book structure is proving fun with three mirrors.

The 4th floor is under construction at work, and it has a lot of spook-appeal. Open spaces are no cakewalk in exploration and make each blind turn that much more unnerving than the slog of turn after turn. Big dark empty spaces with eerie little lights can definitely conjure many unsettling thoughts. Heheh!

The Centre of the World
(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis

Here at the center, the center of the world:
Darkness oppresses, fumes choke and yet
its the pressure, the heat and fire of it all
which really gets one down, here in the center
of the world; I went where they sent me,
where you all can follow for all I care
this river of dirt and fire
at the bottom of the stair
Other centers die in gyre, do not hold
indeed cannot hold, and yet,
behold the dirt and fire
at the center of the world.

Happy Humpday

Tuesday, July 18, 2023

Untitled Art Piece

Monday, July 17, 2023

Autumnal Aperture Art Piece

Saturday, July 15, 2023

Xazon HaShekhina Art piece

Friday, July 14, 2023

Excerpt: Sutter's Mill Shootout

Then came the Captain's order, ~$"Select-fire. Target Neck, on one. Three-two..."$~

Carthy fired at the Rexsaur's neck as a second fireball not but three yards from him, but on the other side of an embankment, lit-up the creature as well. Without hesitation, the Swaglod opened fire on their positions and the Dragora disappeared from Carthy's view. Carthy hugged the top of the rocky ridge that separated him from the Captain and he pulled three additional salvos on the Rexsaur which was now on its knees, clutching its throat. A laser pulse shattered stone not six Inches from Carthy, and the adrenaline coursed in greater release through his already primed system. Marcher stood and backpedaled as he fired multiple salvos; once his legs contacted the embankment, he threw himself backwards and displaced buckets-full of water as he landed awkwardly. Carthy's distraction at that nearly cost him his life as a Swaglod bayonet almost impaled his face. Batting the blade away with terribly swift determination, Carthy hit his purpose-built panic button on his e-suit rig. The Swaglod's finned crest rose atop its head, and Carthy saw that it planned on blinding him with its black spit; he rolled to his right, closer to the Captain, and as he did so, drew his threat-snub from his chest holster, and fired point-blank into the Wetlander's fleshy snout. The magnum cartridge alone would have been lethal at this range, but the defensive ammo tore through the soft tissue of the Swaglod's head as if it were a marsh melon. The amphibian's body crashed down upon him and Carthy was pinned even as he was heaving from the wretched stink-glands' contents pouring over and nearly drowning him. Carthy heard more firearms blasts, nearing, and then suddenly, the Swaglod was off of him. The Captain, bloody and squinting, shouted at him to get up and fight. Carthy nodded and did his best to stop vomiting even as he hip-fired the carbine. Swaglod troops fired on the run towards them. Dragora darted about in zig-zag manouvres that defied the imagination. Another Rexsaur approached, and this one was priming a rotorcannon. Carthy looked at Marcher. The other man's left eye was possibly missing, and he had numerous lacerations and avulsions over his face, neck, and hands. The Captain shouted something to Carthy, left hand out and open towards him. Carthy reached out to shake Marcher's hand goodbye, but the other man instead turned Carthy by the shoulder and stripped a magazine from his belt pouch.

"Fall back! Fall back for flak's sake, Carthy!"

If you combine these two images and squint...

Thursday, July 13, 2023

The Belltower of Blackfell Metafiction and Art Piece

The sorceress Zharozenit turned to Aelvryqh, and as softly as unlit morning dew, caressed his silver skin, brushed aside his paper-white hair, and with both hands, framed his effeminate face and peered into his red eyes.

"Our parting, here, amid this rubbulous ruin, the refuse of worlds discarded; here, I pledge myself, my body to you, Isle Sorcerer, sweet Aelvryqh."

His draconic mind saw her intentional framing of body as prize; knew her mind, much less whatever spirit or soul anything human might have, was well beyond her desire to lend, much less give over to him -- even as much as she cared for him.

"And I pledge my yearning desire and present dotage, Zharozenit, Mistress of Myth and Magics; that we draw strength for our respective weirds from each other's company should be enough, but... it is not. My damned soul, held in the grip of the Ancient Powers--" She hushed him with a kiss, and he smiled as he brought her slowly to the ground. Not but two paces distant, the dismembered foes he had, with his demon sword, Sturmomen, slain and derived necessary strength from their sacrifice; these same dead were the scry focus of the one who had sent them...