Mo(u)rning Views…

My friend, and often times co-writer, Melissa Saint Hilaire and I decided to take a spur of the moment field trip to the Mountain View Mausoleum in Altadena to scout locations for an upcoming enormously exciting not-so-secret-secret-project that has nothing to do with alternative religions. Little did we know what we were in for…

Melissa and I hadn’t gone exploring together since the Black Star Canyon ghost hunting fandango almost nine years ago, and although entertaining, it was a total wash out (except for the crazed rednecks waiting for us in their monster truck as we left the canyon at around midnight. Luckily, we scared them more than they scared us, but I’ve seen that scenario in a movie before, and it normally ends in either tears, death, or squealing like a pig).

Melissa doing a good job of being spooky
Part of the giant rose window

The ground floor of the mausoleum was dazzling with rose windows, murals spanning the ceilings, and lots of Italian marble and dead people. Quickly, we realized we had the place to ourselves and got down to investigating.

I was delighted to spy these eight-pointed stars on the second floor. Informally known as the Star of Isis, I used to come across the exact symbol etched into rock at the various mystery spots in the Languedoc region of the South of France where I lived for many years ( for those in the know, I think it was an attempt to mark out the points on David’s Wood’s original pentagram in Genisis. For those not in the know, David Wood wrote a bonkers book called Genisis back in 1986 which basically introduced the Rennes (Rennes-le-Chateau) pentagram, and an increasingly baffling system of sacro-sexual geometry hidden within the landscape — it’s a must read if only for the ‘Ass of Set’). Why the star of Isis? You’s have to ask the sorcerer who’s been carving them all of these years. I mean there are eight points to the Pagan Wheel Year, not to mention the seal of the prophets, and, of course, King Solomon — and all of his barking seals.

Eight pointed star – paging Isis, Inanna, Ishtar, Lakshmi & co
The Great Architect, the eye in the pyramid, part of the tetragramatton . 1, 3, 4,
The stained glass below was a shocker — the colors of the county of Foix, along with a three-tiered castle, which has to do with an Occitan prophecy, and not much to do with a mausoleum in Southern California. The timing is spooky because I’m waiting on one more map (which is on it’s way here) but I think I’ve come up with a fairly valid theory as to why Montsegur and some of the surrounding castles have a solstice effect. If I’m right it’s gonna throw the cat amongst the mystery & history loving pigeons.

No. No Masonic symbols here. Only a few geometrical and architectural themes…
 Not being well versed in Masonry, I don’t know if that’s the ‘high twelve’ in the plates above, or the ‘low twelve’ — or if it would be considered the twelve points on the fully expressed circle.
Il est difficile de vivre l’heure entre chien et loup
“Infinity like time without a friend. Who’ll sing the song if the melody should end?”

The third floor was fairly desolate. With scores of long-dead flowers, and piles of broken furniture hoarded into the corners, it was obvious no one came up there any more. While passing by a darkened alcove, Melissa and I froze in our tracks, both having felt an icy chilly emanating from it. Kneeling next to the enclosure using her iPhone as a torch, Melissa read the names from inside. “Elizabeth,” she said. “Eeelliizzzaaabethhhh….Shhhhh…..! something angrily whispered back. We high-tailed it down the stairs, laughing as we hit the bottom. Not gales of laughter, but nervous, adrenaline laced laughter. Afterwards, we jimmied the lock and checked out the chapel, but there was nothing to be found that wasn’t of the waking world. Calling it a day, we reckoned we’d probably more than worn out our welcome.

Until next time —
Much love from where the worlds touch.
S – xx


Patreon Alert…!

So I’ve finally done it — I’ve taken the plunge and joined the Patreon platform. Let’s see how well I do because I’ve never been that savvy at social media and yet, I keep on trying. Of course, me being me, I pushed the publish button about a month ago before I was anywhere near ready — kinda the story of my life. So I’ve been busy working on the next book. The outline is finished, but modern-day Paris doesn’t want to geographically correlate the way I want it to — dammit — why can’t the topography just obey my whims and reshape itself accordingly? After writing two books last year it feels kind of like ripping the flesh off my tongue with a Popsicle stick starting another one. I probably shouldn’t say things like that but it’s true. None of the characters have their own voice or style yet, and they certainly aren’t talking to me, nor to each other — they’re only vague, shadowy outlines, grumbling quietly in the outer recesses of my imagination. I always dread beginnings. It’s ridiculous because every story must have one. I’m much happier polishing existing material, or creating bombastic dark fantasy sequences. Now that I’ve furtively collected the necessary technology and learned to apply it (hence why I’ve been absent on the social sites lately — I’ve been busy learning new things so I can further my preternatural agenda) I’m going to share some of the esoteric research permeating the new book in a web series called Lux in Tenebris on my Patreon page starting the middle of August. It’ll consist of some of the more curious esoteric gossip abounding in fin-de-siecle Paris and other inherent mysteries. The first episode, entitled ‘Cursed Again!’, will feature warring necromancers and authors using black magic and such — and maybe a little mind-crunching alchemy. Okay, they’ll be a lot of mind-crunching alchemy, but not to start with — even I’m not ready to head down that rabbit hole yet. But I hope you will join me there. Like always, I’m approachable and open to suggestions, but keep it to the La Belle Epoque if you can — think Fulcanelli and company and we’ll be in business.

Here’s the link!


And the new Lux in Tenebris merchandise is in! You can find more about it HERE!

I’ll still be posting some on this site, but I will be spending more and more time over on Patreon with the new series. Come join me for this new adventure — I would love to see you there!!!

And in other news… I’ve got a new article out in always fascinating The Heretic Magazine called ‘Gloraie to the End of the World (in the blink of an eye)’ deconstructing the apocalyptic imagery in the enigmatic paintings of Juan Valdes Leal. There’s a little Fulcanelli thrown in there, along with the mystery cross of Hendaye, warnings about the end of the world, Harpocrates, and the Kali Yuga. You can find out more HERE.

By fire we are born anew…

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S -xx

p.s. I decided to stay in LA for the summer. Obviously, I am not regretting that choice one little bit…

Selva Oscura – Absolution is Not an Option…

Hey there friends! Shall we take the sweet with the bitter? I’m rather a fan of the savoury myself…

First up, new, sweet business — we have a brand spanking new giveaway going on over at Goodreads! We’re giving away four print copies of our latest dark fantasy offering, Saurimonde III. All you have to do is follow the link below for your chance to win!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Saurimonde III by Melissa St. Hilaire

Saurimonde III

by Melissa St. Hilaire

Giveaway ends May 06, 2016.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

And now onto old, sort of bitter business — I found this journal entry quite by accident earlier after clicking on the wrong icon. I think it was from the end of summer 2012? When I’d started on the first Saurimonde novel — a different time and a different place, but it is evocative, and took me quite by surprise.

2012, Montsegur, France – Summer:

Selva Oscura,

There is a character, a succubus, crafting herself out of darkness and chaos, and I have a feeling she’s going to reek havoc on my new story. I don’t whether I’m birthing her into existence, or whether she is being rebirthed. Sometimes it feels like she’s using me as a conduit and has been waiting for the opportune moment to do so. 
Partial character study — the words are from a fragment of a dream.
“I’ll never forgive you and there’s a part of me that will always hate you. The feeling is irrational and rears its ugly head at a moment’s notice. I have to keep remembering — this is not my fault — I did not cause this situation — you did. Absolution is not an option. It may hurt me more, but I’ll never be there in my soul, not even if I mouth the words of your proverbial redemption. Time should heal these things and I no longer dwell on them like I once did — you no longer haunt my waking thoughts. When reminded of the past it’s more like the sudden pain of being touched with the lit end of a cigarette. I lash out at the world — of course, that’s putting it mildly, when what I really want is to rip down the fabric of creation itself. The irrational rises inside like a darkened whirlwind, an abyss without stars, like utter blackness — and it builds like the pregnant sky before a southern storm. I cannot control this — there are no reins, no brakes, no known forms of control, as it spills forth. Do you hear my voice howling in the winds? Don’t you not recognize what shimmers in the shadows? There is power there. You hang your head, cowering in shame, but if you only stood still, and raised a hand to the west, you would realize this is a gift. Go, dive deeper into the water. Hold your breath longer than you ever thought possible. Far past the murkiness and into the deep, deep, depths. Why do you deny yourself these things? She is always there waiting for you, shining in her cloak of immaculate darkness. No more celebrated now than the distant memory of a dull glint on a rusted blade.”

And that’s where it stops…

It’s scary. It’s violent. I’m well aware of where my head was at the time. I know the circumstances — but it is raw and honest. I love these fragments of dreams, and I love having forgotten them only to stumble across them at a later date. Besides the first Saurimonde novel there’s the germ on Sisters of the Wasteland in there as well. I miss the ancient spirits of the olde country and maybe they miss me too. But the time to return is not yet, although it will be soon. I bide my time as I rebuild an empire.

Much love from where the worlds touch,

S – xx

Sisters of the Wasteland

I’ve been keeping my head down and focusing on the work in the hopes the wrongs in my life will somehow right themselves. It’s never that easy, though. Just finished an intensive re-write on ‘The Colour Out of Space‘, and it looks as if the script is possibly going out to cast, although I don’t know if I should say anything or not. No one told me not to. Fingers crossed for this beast as I’m rather proud of the modernized adaptation we managed to fasten together.

Before I get started on the next script I’ve put a little elbow grease in the graphic novel I’ve been dreaming up in my head. This project is set to slow burn and yet I just can’t put it down. It’s the story I know the least about and still I keep tinkering with it despite that fact. It’s like an object which you aren’t quite certain what it’s used for, you only know you like the way it looks, and you want it just cause. So I’m going to post some of it here and play around with the text a bit. It’s nothing like it’s going to look, but maybe it will help clarify my vision. It’s still very rough and I won’t post the beginning having done so twice already.

photo by Marnie Shelton Klein

Believers of the Unpure

Once upon a time the dark Mother was endless. She was the vast Immaculate Darkness. Mistress on the sea of Infinity. Benevolent. Malevolent. These terms mean nothing and are concepts of cattle. In the center of her swirling chaos a cunning affliction unknowingly came to be. Imperfection in perfection. Creation was conjured without consent. How could perfection recognize Imperfection? And so She fell. Matter took shape and became finite. It became trapped. Days became numbers. Binding concepts. The error in the system. The Demiurge; mad, blind, and insane. But being born of a deficit it never knew it was so. And so it never knew any different. Like us it fights craftily not to cease to exist. But our light reflects its light. Our light reflects our maker.

“May the curse, cunning, and blessing be.”
“Wake up!”
This world has blinded the minds of the Unbelievers.
Nyx, Nul and Nil: Sisters of the Wasteland
Nyx is the earth, the core on which the water’s lie.
Nul is the power of the ever-changing tides.
Nil is the breath of wind which guides and navigates.
Together they make up the vessel which traverses the sacred waters.
Positioned equidistantly around the table they ask a question, “who is speaking to us now?”
“I am the one who cast my fire upon this world and will watch it blaze down to the very last ember.”
“And what do we seek?”
“When you can make three into one, and when you can make the inner like the outer, then you will find the keys to the kingdom of high and low… Fire, sword, war… Do you know where you really are?”
“Show us the way, Father.”
The festering breath envelopes them. “Open your eyes Sisters of the Wasteland. Here you find the reality of your garden of delight.”
The scorched earth ripples in a heat haze in front of them, A world of ash and fire, scrub and rock. A world burned clean where nothing can grow. The mountains rise with jagged peaks around them, casting unnatural shadows as they huddle together for protection and warmth. Ravens turn in the skies, the only other inhabitants of this place. Winged messengers of the coming storm.
Nil: “This cannot be.”
Nul: “This world is a carcass, picked clean by the blind.”
Nyx: “Prepare sisters, prepare. For the trouble we expect will come.”
We are dreaming again. And from this dream we cannot awaken.
The three at the table: “Who holds the keys of knowledge?”
Outside of time: “They were lost by those who would not pass themselves, and they have made it so no one else can pass.”
The three at the table: “Does Pamphile know where?”
Outside of time: “Sleep. For you should have found a better answer…”
Seeking shelter the sisters have gone to the cave to weather the storm, hiding frozen in one finite point amongst the chaos.
Clotho – spinner
Lachesis – alloter
Atropos – unturnable
As sly as snakes and as quiet as doves, sisters, see yourselves, and spin us a new tale.
A voice whispers in the Darkness. The remnants of broken threads envelop them. Then, the spark of first light. Luminescence. A refraction of quartz which has never used its reflective skin before. One solitary chamber in the belly of the beast. Airless. Deathless Grace. So cool to the touch. How long have they been there now? Like roots they have grown into the earth, percolating in their shroud.
Three days. Three Ages. Three aeons.
Time to wake up!
And at that base was a stone from the sky, one which wept blood. From this aerolite, mixed with tears, fear, and fire, they forged new blades. The daggers from heaven, born of exile. Blow by blow they hardened them until they were strong enough to rip the fabric of creation itself.
Born of fire we are forged stronger now. A warm breeze catches the spark. The dross of matter burns brightly, bringing with it the breath of intention. We will turn the wine back to water. Hand in hand and heart to heart we conjure you.
Sisters of the Wasteland together in the cave: “We call on you Mother, Mistress, First and Always.”
She comes robed in silver and night and walks in dreams and darkness amongst the lovely, baleful stars.
She: “Can you answer this? When does One become Two. Two become Three, and out of the Third comes One as the Fourth?”
Nil: “First the circle.”
Nul: “Than the square.”
Nyx: “Than the triangle.”
Body, Soul, and Spirit. Realized together they exceed the limits of Nature. The spirit is free of its fetters. The light that shines in the darkness is the fourth.
Nil: “I wish to see the sunrise.”
Nul: “I wish to feel the warmth on my skin.”
Nyx: “I wish to taste the wind.”
Let us leave this place by the secret sign told to us at our reckoning. We know the answer now. Conjunction.
Rock scraping across rock. Stone turns to liquid as if the lower vibrations of nature are working in reverse. The cave mouth opens as they slowly stumble outside. An all encompassing bombardment. New eyes, new senses, new colors. The sun burns low in the sky as the first star gleams in the twilight. The desert is awash in in oranges and reds under the cover of deepening blue. The warm wind brings a fine sand which stings like a sunburn. The wasteland remains, yet they have become a part of it now, hardened like stone sentinels. The trial is not over, the veil persists. They will not see the dawn.
A manic laugh spreads around them, rippling like a heat haze. “Do you not see with new eyes? Your wish has been granted. Nihil Extraneum.”

In that word is a heartbeat. Wake again. In that word is expansion. Psychic stretching. Incubating. Collating. It is a Solution. There is Nothing from outside.
The voice is silenced.

Reading back through it now it strikes me it might be time to stop playing Godspeed You! Black Emperor in such heavy rotation. Maybe not as it’s so evocative and such a joy to write to. It’s coming on midnight and I’m going to out to stare at the stars for a while and contemplate just where this is all going. As hard as I try there is no linear process to my creativity. It’s all cobbled together from different pieces I pick up, discard, and then pick up again later. It’s a madhouse.

Much love from where the worlds touch,