Nothing has ever been built this completely by a single creator with dedication, focus, and zero compromises.

The visual, auditory, and literary elements connect. Every stroke of paint, every musical note, every line of dialogue belongs to the same coherent, cohesive, living universe.

And yes, characters actually die and stay dead. (Star Wars: Bletch. I was a lifelong fan of the original trilogy until that nonsense.)

I talked previously about the irreplaceable nature of my actual combat experience — the fact that I’ve actually done martial arts, ring fighting, boxing, wrestling, sword training. I’ve put on the armor. I’ve ridden the horses. I know it at a level that no one else who has ever written about it knows. I am an active-duty combat veteran.

Okay, setting all that aside: even if I didn’t have that, it would still be better, because the plot is better, the individual motives of the characters are better, the character arcs themselves are better, the plot arc is stronger, more exciting, and better. The characters are deeper, as well as more relatable. There’s more to the whole body of the work — how and where it most counts.

Consider this: I not only wrote the books, edited them, and published them myself, but I also created drawings, paintings, digital renderings, sculptures, and animations of all the characters. I also created a full-length symphony and choral soundtrack of all original music compositions.

Nobody else has done that. All they did was create a manuscript, get it to an editor and a publisher, and then get the funding behind the project.

The only thing I’m lacking is the one major thing all those so-called greats had: financial backing and a foot in the door or a silver spoon in the mouth. The hype machine is the only thing I’m lacking. I’ve done more than all of them combined by the first half of book one, hands down. Don’t believe me? Buy it and read it. The only thing I don’t have is the hype.

I’m winning the case for Worlds of Within being the greatest and best universe ever created, and I’m proving it the best way possible — by putting in the real blood, sweat, and tears. Why is it so much better, and how? On every single level. The time, the care, the patience, the love that went into it is greater than any other author who’s ever even attempted it.

No universe, not Star Wars, not Marvel, not Tolkien’s name-list walkabout, not Martin’s unfinished mid-tier burnout, not Herbert’s eighty-three repetitive, useless, unwanted rehashes. Rowling, with her more-than-borderline plagiarism and theft — no original ideas, no original concepts, nothing from Hogwarts to the wands to witches on brooms. It’s all from older material.

This work does not have a single chosen one in it. No worn-out tropes, ever. It’s not a lame “magic fixes everything” cop-out either. Nor is it a dressed-up rip-off of known myths or folklore. Definitely not a horrendous, unreadable, punishing, inane slog of boring Tolkien and Martin-style phone book lists of bad fantasy names.

I mean really? A name? That’s your whole character? One name, once, filler space — why should I care?

Nothing has ever been built this completely, with this much intelligence, planning, skill, and care. Not by any other single creator in all of recorded history. Nothing comes close to my dedication and focus. And all of it from someone with class, style, and a high standard. But the best part? Zero compromises.

Give it a try and tell me if you didn’t enjoy it more than all those other versions of “Barney with a sword.”

"We don't have time to run and hope no one finds out about the treasure. We have to slow the spread of all this, or we're all dead before the wave even hits."
Sebaziun's breath hitched. His mind whirled, caught between the revelation of the treasure's danger and this new, terrifying truth. "You're gonna have to show me on a map  where you were when you saw it and what direction you think its moving
".
"I'm sure its not natural," Gamleon guessed. "Sure, the rain and all, the rivers swelling, that  seems normal enough. But this thing is something else. Something bigger. And I still can't believe it's really coming. Its so... just, coming faster than any of us are prepared for."
Sebaziun sat there wiping at his nose and eyes, silent for a moment, processing the flood of information. His earlier paternal tunnel vision was now tempered with disquieting deeper understandings. "So, we still go, go to the queen," he said finally, his voice quiet, resigned.
"Yeah. We have to," Gamleon confirmed. "She's our only chance to buy time. We tell her everything, and maybe—just maybe—she can keep her people quiet long enough for us to get out, to run. But that meeting, when everyone's gathered... that's when I'll have to tell them all about it. He could barely even spit out the words he was so tired and disgusted by it all ..." the flood, because in the end, Sebaziun, none of this even matters if we can't outrun that wave."
Sebaziun closed his eyes for a long moment, the weight of it all pressing down on him. "Alright. We go. We plan with the queen. But you'd better be ready to explain, Gamleon. Because once we start this, there's no going back."
Gamleon nodded. He knew the truth was going to shatter whatever fragile plans they had, but there was no avoiding it. The flood was coming ,whether anyone believed him or not.
"Consider this: what if she doesn't believe me? What if she doesn't believe us? What if they think it's some clever ruse to get away with the treasure? I wish I had some kind of proof."
Sebaziun nodded, the weight of Gamleon's words settling heavily. "Not only that, but everyone's getting ready for the games. She has some kind of special meeting set up—something about the plans and about discussing the arrow with the widower king. They were planning to make agreements about using the arrow, joining the conflict against the Cockatrice. It all seems so meaningless now."
"I would like to use some of my enormous new wealth to commission a new medal. The medal is an award for having the most insane to-do list ever conceived and we are the winners... and the losers." He tried laughing but failed, nerves frayed and raw, exhaustion overwhelming down deep to his core. He sat motionless as snot and drool ran down; he barely had the will left to move his lips or form coherent words. "I just want to keep saying that I'm sorry. But what would you have done if you were in my place? Of course I would come here. Of course I would come to the smartest person I've ever met or known in my life and in all my travels. If I didn't save you guys, if I could've done something and didn't try to do anything?"
"If I need some water as badly as I do, and I do. You and these poor kids... I imagine all you want to do is soak in a tub and just drink, drink water. He started to get up when he noticed the portrait in the dim light. " When my uncle was dying, I came to his bedside and asked him how he was, how he was trying to deal with it yuh know. How did he manage his thoughts? And you know what he said?"
"What's that? Your Uncle Ted, right? Wud did he say?"
He said, "You gotta take every single little thing one step at a time." Seems kinda obvious, but also, I mean, what else can you really do?
" I loved your uncle Ted. He was great. He woulda said "we better get up and stop feeling sorry for ourselves. Dreema is gonna come in here and find us like this. Kick both our *****" Gamleon said doing his best impression of the beloved old timer.
"****, that’s a really good uncle Ted, you really were paying attention all that time weren't you. I'm sorry, buddy. I'll get up. Go get you some cold water. You stay right there".
He handed the portrait over, and Gamleon cradled it gently.
"Bread and wine too, please. If it's not too much to ask".
By the time Sebaziun returned from the kitchen, Gamleon was sprawled out across the hall, totally blocking it, face down, snoring loudly.  The picture back where it had always hung. Sebaziun felt awful about nudging him awake, but after several attempts and failures, he could hear Gamleon's stomach roaring and grumbling as it ate itself. So, he shook him hard until he came around. Then, he put the warm buttered bread in Gamleon's hand and drank from the cooled wine before passing it .

"Ugh... oh, God, how long was I out? Did you tell Dreema?"
"Not long, and no, not yet. The kids are making her smile. The fae are dancing and singing, drinking up my best, but who cares. You good?"ut oh, those carrots in there are calling my name."
"Oh, that's a great idea. I'm gonna get some of the kids and head out to the garden right next to the kitchen window. Pull up some carrots and stuff real quick. That way they'll at least have something."
"Get the big goofy one his name's Kai. He loves diggin. Tell him, I told him to help you."
"Can do, boss man. Anything else I can do to help you?" he asked, jokingly, despite everything.

Sebaziun gave a nod and headed out, leaving Gamleon to snack and rest. Despite the weight of their multifaceted and dire situation, they managed to hold onto a thread of normalcy. It was a small drop in the middle of a swirling sea of uncertainty. It was almost too much it seemed in every direction there was something waiting, something constantly threatening to drown them all, yet there it was—an unbreakable bond, an attempt at levity and understanding. Something that didn't need to be picked apart or over examined. Something. Something kind and good that reminded them of their shared responsibilities and maturity.

"Yes, I hear you, Uncle Ted," Gamleon said aloud, catching Dreema's ear. As he began to doze back off, he could smell the sandalwood and sage that Ted liked to use. He drifted in an in-between state, trying to swallow the fresh buttered bread, overpowered by sheer and inevitable exhaustion. He slipped away and dreamed of flying immediately. He looked out to his side and there was a young, healthy Ted saying, "Yes, yes, you were paying attention the whole time, weren't you."

Be an activist.
Pray in a loud active voice,
to an active God.

Here is where unfurling functions best,
Bolts of calico and honest to God purple
Velvet skirted Dine' lady, noble mejor, she

With her Zuni concho belt and squash blossom
Pendant perhaps honoring the blossom, per se

Doubt free, this is us, joined at the verbs,
Linked like fibers in a thread twisted for years,
Followed back, through lists of favorite things,

Inevitably the original grammar **** returns, with a
Vision, made plain as day, once, nations are made of
Us, we the people who use these living words to make

Peace, where none has been, in living memory,
But we pray today, any way, we expect yes, let peace

Reign locally, the whole world gets the idea and
Trumps the fool at the table betting truth is not God.

Sub-rosa, eh, a rose is a rose, Gertrude told me.
The Lie, that all men are not liars, is oft sold little thinkers,
And that is the truth each tells itself, we are chosen ones.

It took me a while to understand
that life happens in active mode
not passive
Everything is beautiful
in my mind
But lying in bed
or sitting on the couch
won’t bring that beauty
into my life

How does one love here
eternally,
when it is seemingly
ambiguous
with no happily ever after?
Evasive to perception,
yet somehow within us
only to be without,
never to stagnate
unless we fill our cups
with doubt

Ineffable, we’re all ****** up,
spiraling-
was this inevitable?
Lacking in honor;
devastation, She may instead
choose to watch the world burn,
we animals have
come unglued
from the fabric of
our own humanity-
lest we forget,
we are animals too

And we’ve disconnected
from the alchemy
beyond senses dull touch,
because access starts
from within
to be with out,
yet most of us sit around
reveling in drugs, lust,
and doubt

Compassion
lacks an identity,
it only exists to give
so what is it that set us
up this climb
of forced actualities
that are actually
meaningless?

We circulate an eternal
notion of control,
pacing concrete
and calling it purpose
instead of settling
into our dark abyss
and finding acceptance
underneath the
surface

A man falls over,

luckily I can't see more --


There are bystanders.

there's probably something
far deeper at work here
something quite important
and worth delving into
to be explored more
thoroughly
consequentially
consciously

instead i'll probably
just end up thinking about
that shoelace in my boot
the one that still
needs to be replaced
ragged and frayed as it is
and i'll wonder how long
i can ignore it before
it finally snaps
and i'm left with
no choice anymore