Thursday, December 2, 2010

The Holiday Spirit

Thursday, December 2Nd, 7:51 P.M.
Mood: Festive, Energetic
Christmas Lights, by Coldplay

Happy Holidays all, it would appear that the season is upon us. Thanksgiving is over and I now find myself preparing for Christmas. Well, that and Meán Geimhridh, the Celtic winter solstice. I plan to build a replica stone circle in my back garden that will line up with the setting winter sun on Dec. 23Rd. But anyways back to Christmas. The season of giving is here, and so I think some thanks are in order. But before I start, please let me say that I am thankful for all you readers, it would be nothing without you. Now with that said, I think we should begin. (A small note, these are in random order, I just wrote them as they popped into my head.)


*ahem* I, The Raven King, am thankful for:

Saphira Bjartskular, Dragons, Wyrms, Sea Serpents, Cryptids, Cryptozoology, Lake Monsters, Lochs, Europe, Computers, Blogs, Steve Jobs, Nikola Tesla, Bill Gates, JRR Tolkien, Skulduggery Pleasant, Albert Einstein, Tim Burton, Danny Elfman, Edgar Allan Poe, Ray Bradbury, John Keats, Uthire Pendragon, J.R.R Tolkien,Chris Marten, Thomas Riley, Coldplay, Phoenix, U2, Daft Punk, Paramore, Paranormal Researchers, Brazing Goggles, Mothman, UFO's, Point Pleasant, Paranormal Authors, Ghosts, Reptiles, Dido, The Broken Bells, Oingo Boingo, John Lennon, Pink Floyd, Aragorn, Gandalf, Tanith Low, Drake (from the tunnels series), Data, Edward Steam, Victor Evernight, Thomas Riley (the character this time), Barnaby Grimes, Black Tigers, Regular Tigers, Spotted Lions, Flying Snakes, Switzerland, Giant Lizards, Melangistic Big Cats, The British Big Cat Society, SteamPunk, Magic, Dragons (again), Poetry, Science, Gloom, Ipods, Laptops, Merlin, Music, Airships, Mysteries, His Majesty's Dragon (series), Evil Genius (book), Large Black Greatcoats, Purple Tinted SteamPunk Sunglasses, Alice In Wonderland, The Lord Of The Rings, Ghost And Paranormal Researchers, Truly Dedicated Cryptid Researchers, Apple Computers, Airman, Artemis Fowl, Space Travel, The Fact That Space Shuttles Are Getting Retired, Slashdot,, Dracula, Brahm Stoker, Narnia, The Tunnels Series, Quantum Physics, Skulls, Blogspot, Dragons (yet again, I love them), KnightRider, Star Trek, The International Society Of Cryptozoology, The Loch Ness Monster Fan Page, Grooveshark, Night Vision Goggles, Etsy, Gifts, DARPA, Robots, NASA, Blender, Illusions, Free Software, DOSBOX, Playing Cards, The Prestige,, Instructables, Rush, Josh Groban, Enya, R.E.M., Soundtracks, Runes, Fantasy, Magic, Poetry, Technology, Science, Art,The Middle Ages, Books, Movies, Illusions, Dreams, Machines, Droid Phones, The X Files, Swords and Other Ancient Weaponry,Programming, Christopher Paolini, Ancient Sites (Such as Stonehenge), Mysteries, Dreary, Sad, or Gloomy Things, Robotics, Animation, Directing, Puppetry, Astronomy, Mechanics, Physics, Alchemy, History, Dragons (YES AGAIN), Writing, DIY, Dark Matter, The Unknown, The Universe, SteamPunk Couture, The Elvish Language, Science Fiction, Writing The Evernight Chronicles, Elvish Couture, Stone Circles, Gears, Steam, The Celts, Armor, Swords, Pikes, All Manner Of Cool Weaponry, Canes, Scarves, Theater, Thespians, Tophats, Goggles, Encyclopedias, Libraries, Black Leopards, Ireland, Scotland, Superstitions,

And thank you again to all you readers out there! Take a bow!

Before you go, leave me a comment about your SteamPunk, Fantasy, or just cool Christmas ideas to help make this holiday season truly unforgettable.

The Raven King

Thursday, November 4, 2010

The Evernight Chronicles Character Bios#1

Thursday, November 4Th, 7:49 P.M.
Mood: Sleepy, Dull
Music: Skulled, by

Here is some more information about the main character of "The Evernight Chronicles." As I continue to expand the story, I will post more character bios for you to read.


Friday, October 8, 2010

The Minstrel - A Poem

Friday, October 8Th, 5:58 P.M.
Mood: Whimsical, Musical
Music: Remember When It Rained, by Josh Groban

A Note: This poem was written for a friend of mine, who is an author. It symbolizes all who write, read, and enjoy the stories that pour forth from the mind of a writer.

The Minstrel - A Poem

Look upon the ink that traces,
gentle lines upon the faces,

Of the ancient, cracking pages,
of the tale yet to come forth.

See her hand as it goes flitting,
adding lines both new and fitting,

To the story waiting to be born.

Hour on hour 'til time grows late,
weaving tales of death and fate,

What could cause that such a state,
should intrude upon the mind?

So it seems that she is fated,
still she writes here unabated,

though the hour grows late and light grows dim.

Spinning stories, weaving tales,
from her open mind that hails,

To the stories as they enter one by one.

Words, like rain pours from her pen,
crossed out, revised, then scrawled again,

Upon the page as blank and white as snow.

Lives and stories,
deaths and glories,

come from the hand that strokes the page.

Ghosts that flit about the gloom,
stories, told inside the room,

were she sits and writes yet still.

Dreams they are, that pour forth waiting,
to be told, of love and hating,

upon the page that waits.

Dreams, for without them we are nothing.

For what are we ourselves?

I shall tell you.


Thursday, September 23, 2010

The Brief Yet Wondrous Life Of A Flame Struck In The Dark - A Poem

Thursday, September 23Rd, 4:35 P.M.
Mood: Foggy, Slightly Bored
Music: Life In Technicolor Part 2., by Coldplay

The Brief Yet Wondrous Life Of A Flame Struck In The Dark - A Poem

The darkness crept in all around,
and filled the air without a sound,

The utter darkness hung about,
that filled the senses, stilled the shout,

And brought to one a dreaded feeling,
so dark, so cold, and yet revealing,

Of the tears, the moans, the screaming,
and the places, cold and teeming,

With the creatures of most ancient and forgotten lore.

Then for a second, a brief second,
light burst forth, though darkness beckoned,

Shattering the darkness, dispelling the gloom,
lighting the contents of the forgotten room you stood in so long ago.

And for moment fire shone,
and lit the air, the dust, the stone,

In that place now so far away.

And then it flickered, waved and sputtered,
as the wind with sighs and mutters,

Sought to quench the flame so dear,
the light that banished
darkest fear,

And then at last there in the dark,
the flame dimmed to but a spark,

And then at last the flame receded,
though it's light was sorely needed,

And the dark came swirling back,
from the corners and the cracks,

And filled the room once more.

What is the flickering of the fire but a life?

To be born into darkness.

To bring light.

To live.

To love.

And to dim, in the fullness of time,

leaving the mystery of darkness as it was when we came.

Is it not extraordinary?

The simple life of a flame struck in the dark.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

I Finish A SteamPunk Novel (Tolstoy And Wonderful, Groznium Powered Robots)

Thursday, September 2Nd, 4:18 P.M.
Mood: Tired, Slightly Disenchanted
Music: Accelerate, by REM

I finished Android Karenina today. It was produced by Quirk Books, which also produced Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, to great reception amongst obscure literary circles. Ben H. Winters, the mash up author of this work, did a stunning job of converting Tolstoy's descriptions of early Russia into a bustling SteamPunk paradise.

Gone are the starchy upper class people wandering about with parasols. Gone are the coal fired trains, the domestic servants, and the villainous Tsar Alexi Alexandrovich. In their place are the by far more awesome hovering "grav" trains, companion robots designed to mimic their masters, and in place of the book's corrupted Alexi, we now enjoy the despicable mannerisms of "THE FACE".

"THE FACE" is, in fact, a mechanical face grafted onto Alexi's. So that rather than being corrupted by the inner turmoil of early Russian politics, he is corrupted by a mechanical oculus bearing face that speaks into his mind.

There are also aliens, trips to the moon, androids, artificial limbs, and more robots than one could count. The book was excellent, I thought it extremely good. Why not read it for yourself?

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Steampunk Shopping

Wednesday, September 1St, 4:13 P.M.
Mood: Happy, Whimsical
Music: The Ghost Inside, by The Broken Bells

I like SteamPunk, this much is clear. So when I want to buy a new oculus, monocle, cane, etc. I really have to look. I have found a few good sources though. Etsy is FANTASTIC as far as SteamShopping (to coin the phrase) goes. I found a few sellers that produce amazing works of art that are not only ornamental but functional.

Oldjunkyardbotique on Etsy is great for wearable items for a decently low price, you can view their page here. The picture at right is of their "Tesla Goggles" and it is going for $35.00 nicely priced and good looking, as well as functional, perfect for that lightning experiment I had in mind.

The other seller I found is SteamPunkDesign. You can see their page here. The marvoulus pieces that this craftsman creates are incredible. These are NOT things to wear during your experiments. No, these are the things that the classic SteamPunk denizen wears to costume balls and keep in velvet lined cases in safes when not in use. These items sell for hundreds of dollars and are created from the finest brass and leather. The picture at left is a pair of their dual oculars, selling for $160.00.

Those are my sources for SteamPunk atire, be it goggles, gas masks, monocles or teaflasks. And thus finishes my Steam Culture post for today.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Amongst The Graves, A Poem

Thursday, August 12Th, 3:50 P.M.
Mood: Poetic, Excited
Music: 2112, by Rush

Amongst The Graves, A Poem

Darkness creeps across the stones,
and mingles with the sinking bones,

and stirs within a chilling sense,
of life and it's indifference.

For here they care not what you did in life,
there is no hurry here, no eternal strife,

only rest and quiet.

A grinning skull, a sunken tomb,
the dark, the damp, the endless gloom.

Fills me with a sense of dread,
as I sit here amongst the dead,

and think of life and all it's pain,
the loss, the strife, the thoughts of gain.

But there is none of that amongst the graves.

No greed, no toil no suffering,
only rest.

The restful bones, the sleeping bones,
the ancients now make here their homes.

They sleep in their beds so peacefully,
and it seems as if they speak to me,

And reach towards with bony hands,
some goal eternal rest demands,

And I will sit amongst the graves,
in peace until the end of days,

And I will join them there at last,
and there find peace at long, at last.

And sleep here in a stony tomb,
fearing no more my mortal doom.

Here amongst the graves.


Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Rain, A Poem

Thursday, July 22Nd, 2:11 A.M.
Mood: Tired, Fascinated
Music: Voyager, by Daft Punk

The Rain, A Poem.

See the rain, the lovely rain,
as it goes trickling down my skin.

Let it fill you, bind you, send you,
into the memories of then.

And see the rain, the noble rain,
as it falls to cobbled streets bellow,

And watch it run beneath the feet,
of the people as they come and go.

And remember then as we walked,
together in the rainy, misty weather,
the fog as it curled about,
and clung to the hem of our cloaks as we walked,
on that dank morning so long ago.

We looked about and in the rain,
you whispered of the things you saw,
the life, the light.

Though all I saw was death,
and sorrow, you saw happiness.

I remember you, your gentle manner,
your smile, your whisper, your ways.

The way you could lift the gloom,
and take me from this preemptive tomb,
and banish the darkness.

Though it never truly left.
It clung to me, never leaving.
Even in the light it hid in the corners of the room.

Waiting to fill my mind with thoughts of dread and doom.

And now without you it swirls about me,
never leaving.

Never leaving.

It has become my friend, my aid,
my companion.

Like the rain.
The Cold.

They are my family now,
my only friends.

But I remember.
I remember because of the rain.

The noble rain.
The gentle rain.

And as it trickles down my face.
I lift my head up to the sky and call your name.

And feel the rain.

The rain upon my skin.

As it has always been, here with me.

In the rain.


Thursday, July 15, 2010

The Second Chapter of: The Evernight Chronicles

Thursday, July 15Th, 3:05 P.M.
Mood: Tired, Creative
Music: Let's Do The Things We Normally Do, by Dido

The Evernight Chronicles,

Book One:




Chapter 2

In Which We Learn Somewhat of Victor's Past


October 21, 1736,

London, England

Victor leaned back in his chair and began to study the letter. "It's written on vellum parchment", he thought to himself. "Most likely from one of the northern districts."

He reached over the piles of designs on his desk and retrieved a small monogrammed box, which he opened. He quickly looked over the instruments it contained. Seemingly satisfied, he extracted a scalpel and proceeded to scrape a small sample of wax off of the sealed letter. He then removed a small set of silver tweezers from the box, and using them to gently lift the scraping, deposited it into one of the large bell jars that sat next to him on his desk.

He lifted it up and shook it, smiling and singing quietly to himself as he worked, a simple tune he had learned in his boyhood.

For He was a warrior,
Away across the sea
A warrior and a tarrier,
Jean-François Belasier!

He emptied a small vile into the jar and watched as the liquid swirled and churned, dissolving the flake of wax. It continued to swirl and as it did, it turned a dank yellow green.

"Hmmm, traces of sulfur", Victor thought to himself, "most likely not from the writing." "It must have been carried across the Thames for it to acquire such a residue." He slid his chair over to a wall that was covered in ancient maps, many of which bore ancient designs of sea serpents and castles. "There is only one place this could have come from, to meet all my discovered criteria." he said to himself, frowning as he eyed the yellowed maps "Looks like I have a bit of traveling to do, but first, the letter itself."

He slid his chair once more to his desk, and picked up the letter.

He slid one of his metallic fingers under the fold, breaking the seal, and began to read the hurried script scrawled inside. This is what the letter said:

Dear Mr. Evernight,

My name is not important, but I fear the problem that faces my organization as well as myself is most grave. Certain events that have recently come to light force me to retain the exact details of the problem that faces us until I can meet you face to face.

This catastrophe that I speak of is not one of London, nor one of Europe, but one that faces the entirety of life as we know it. It is of the utmost importance that you contact us, as we are in need of your, shall we say. "special talents."

Victor sat up in his chair, this letter was starting to get more and more curios by the second.

Yes, Mr. Evernight, we are aware of the circumstances that lead to your gift. And yes, Mr. Evernight, we know about your abilities and how you attained them. That is why we contacted you.

"Abilities." Thought Victor, "As if they knew."

"As if they could ever know..."

Victor thought back to his childhood. He thought of things that he had tried, for so long, to forget.

"I remember," he said bitterly "Those "circumstances"."

He thought back to that awful day.

The day he had received his "gift."

He remembered how the papers had put it.

"Explosion rocks home, one left alive, though badly injured."

"The explosion." he thought, putting his head in his hands.

He remembered the blackness, the people shouting, the clatter of running feet on the cobblestone streets.

But most of all, he remembered the blackness.

The blackness and the pain.

The doctor said he had to lose his arm. He did not care. He could barely see anyway. He had resigned to the fact that he was going to die. He had simply lost the will to live, as the doctor said, there was nothing for him.

That is when he saw them.

The crowded around his bed, staring mournfully down, some stroking his face from time to time, some weeping. He remembered asking the doctor about them, who they were, but the doctor only shook his head sadly.

"Delusions" he said.

He thought of the woman who sat by him during the night. Though he could barely see her he knew she was there for him. He would never forget her, her sad expression, her dark hair, her kind smile. She looked so frail, from what he could see. Almost translucent.

But most of all, he remembered what she said. "Don't give up", she whispered. "Never give up."

Back in his workshop Victor looked once more to his metal hand. He lifted it and gently caressed the rim of his mirrored goggles, deep in thought.

"I never gave up." he said.

Since that day Victor had always seen them. The people, thin and frail, walking in and out of his life. It was at the orphanage that he had learned what they truly were, and why he was the only one who could see and speak to them.

He was an outcast at the orphanage, always lonely. The other children would have nothing to do with him. The tall, dark haired boy with one arm and an eye patch. Though it was not for the reasons of his deformities that the children ostracized him, indeed many of the children in the city's orphanage had been injured in one way or another.

No, it was for the fact that he was always speaking to thin air, and he did not care for the things that the other children held to be of importance.

While the other children kicked a bundle of rags around the street in the fashion of the players they adored, Victor would stand in front of the the local clock shop and watch the clocks. His one eye followed the gears as they whirred and turned as he stood, until the orphanage dame called the children in for supper.The other children mocked him. Calling him "loony", and "mad as a march hair."

Victor never cared, the other children could never know of the things he had discovered. But one day something they said caught his attention.

He was standing in front of the clock shop, as he always did, when one of the boys yelled across the road: "There's loony Victor! Always Talking to Ghosts!" That was when he knew.


Victor shook his head, trying to clear it of the memories he had tried so hard to forget.

"Gift." He whispered to himself before he continued reading.

We require your help in this most difficult matter, and hope you will contact our informant as soon as possible. The following is the address in which you can find him.

An address was listed. It was some distance from Victor's home.

"I'll have to use a cab." he thought.

Mr. Evernight, the very fabric of existence may hang in the balance.

Please respond to this letter as soon as is possible for you.


No name was given.

"Hmm" Victor thought to himself "At least these people are somewhat clever."

He glanced up at the ornate clock that sat above his desk.

"Ten O'clock." he muttered.

He got up from his desk, flinging the letter onto the desk in the process, and grabbed his gloves up off of it. He retrieved his coat and walked to the door. Glancing around the workshop once more, he flicked the switch and shut the door, locking it before he left. He walked up the stairs, pulling his long black coat about him as he did so, and put on his gloves before pausing in the front hall.

He glanced about, then patted the small object in his pocket once more before placing his top hat upon his head. He snatched up his cane and walked out the door. He bolted it, looking at the plaque that adorned it's carved face as he did, and sang to himself once more as we walked out into the dank London morning.

For He was a warrior,
Away across the sea
A warrior and a tarrier,
Jean-François Belasier!


End of Chapter Two

Stay Posted for more chapters of :The Evernight Chronicles

Saturday, July 3, 2010

The First Chapter of: The Evernight Chronicles

Saturday, July 3Rd, 3:53 P.M.
Mood: Creative, Poetic
Music: Remains of the Day, by Danny Elfman

My dear readers, I have decided to write a book. I will be posting it one chapter at a time for the forseable future, so enjoy.

My book is the first of what I call The Evernight Chronicles.
The Evernight Chronicles follow the life of Mr. Victor Evernight.

But who is this Evernight?

I will tell you.

This is an excerpt from the early notes I took while writing the concept for the character.

"Magician, Inventor, Alchemist and Steamborg, Victor Evernight represents the quintessential steampunk inventor in the early Victorian age. "

And so now, without further ado, I present the first chapter.

The Evernight Chronicles,

Book One:




Chapter 1

A Rather Gloomy Morning


October 21, 1736,

London, England

It was a cold morning. The chill October winds had whisked a blanket of fog from the Thames over the sleepy London streets. The lamps were still lit, as it was so early in the morning, and most of the respectable citizens of London were still asleep. Lewisham, on the other hand, was already bustling with activity as the peddlers set up their wares for the early morning market.

A door on one of the side streets opened, and a tall gentlemen stepped out. He was an unusual sight for this part of London. Nearly 6 feet tall and elegantly dressed, he looked the picture of the upper class, and yet here he was in the industrial districts of the Thames.

He strode out of the shop and began to walk down the foggy street, black ebony cane by his side. He was oddly dressed, wearing a long black coat, black leather gloves, a scarf that covered most of his face, and a tall top hat sat atop his head.

The most unusual feature of the man though, was the large circular goggles he wore, which covered his eyes. The round lenses were almost perfectly reflective, and looked like those that one might expect to see on a worker in the shipyards, almost as if they were intended for metal working.

He strode down the street, past the stalls with the shouting vendors, over the Thames on the central bridge, and into the mist, almost disappearing into the early morning fog.

He returned home, and opened a heavy oak door in the front, next to which there was a plaque that read "Dr. Victor Evernight", and strode in.

He placed his hat, scarf and cane in the front hall, and made his way to the kitchen, where he picked up a kettle and some tea, then headed for the basement. He stopped at yet another door, this time with a note scrawled in spidery script that read "Lab, Do Not Enter." Smiling to himself, he opened the door and stepped in. A large switch lay near the door and he proceeded to turn it up, thus lighting the gas lamps in the lab, and illuminating it's contents. A sigh escaped his lips, he never tired of his workshop.

The room he entered was any inventor's dream. Huge tables and bookshelves crammed the walls, bending under the weight of all kinds of mechanical odds and ends. One of the bookcases was covered with various skulls, bottles of liquids and herbs, crystals and lenses, and a large intricately inlaid sphere that sat on a stand carved to look like the claw of some mythical creature. Objects that appeared to be of ancient origin lay strewn across the room, many carved with runes and delicately rendered writing. Tools were everywhere, any type one could imagine. Wrenches, gauges, measuring devices, flasks, tongs, and some that defied classification sat in various positions around the workshop. Designs and schematics covered the walls, and the desks were laden with yet more. Half finished inventions littered the room and in the center, suspended by chains, lay a great airship.

It was a magnificent sight, huge and ominous. It's black hull looked ready to cut through the air and it's massive rotors looked imposing and powerful upon their mountings. A massive balloon was folded and lay atop the mast, as if ready for use.

Victor made his way to the corner of the room, where a small stove lay. He lit the fire in the grate, and placed the pot on to boil. He then strode over to one of the desks and sat down. He removed his right glove, revealing a thin and dexterous hand, then he removed his left glove, but what lay beneath it could hardly be called a hand, at least not by human standards.

It was entirely mechanical, made from the finest copper and was intricately laced with gears that whirred and clicked as it moved, providing it with full dexterity. Victor sighed again, out of all his inventions, this was still one of his favorites. He flexed it in the light, marveling at how it glinted off the metal, then he balled it into a fist and absentmindedly began to rub it with his right hand.

The pot began to whistle, so he walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of tea. Sitting back down he blew gently on the swirling liquid, watching with fascination at how the steam whirled and billowed forth from the cup.

"Steam", he thought to himself, "such an inane thing, and yet look at all it has done." He looked again at his left hand, which now held his teacup, and in doing so his gaze fell upon a note on his desk. It was written on clean, starched white paper, and was bound with a red ribbon.

A seal rested on the front, closing the note.

It bore a strange symbol, and one word in the center.


Picking it up, Victor thought back to memories he had not considered for a long time. Then he thought of more recent events, those that could tie in with the letter he had just received. He patted the object that rested in the inner pocket of his long black coat and smiled to himself. This mornings venture had turned out to be profitable, despite his doubts of the old shopkeeper's claims.
He then looked back at the letter resting on the table.

"It looks as if things are about to get more interesting.", he said.


End of Chapter One

Stay Posted for more chapters of :The Evernight Chronicles

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Coldplay's New CD

Wednesday, June 23Rd, 3:30 P.M.

Mood: Alert, Interested

Music: VCR , by The XX

I heard that Coldplay has a new CD coming out soon.

I can't wait to hear it, after the roaring success of "Viva la Vida: or Death and All his Friends" I am truly excited.

I can't wait to hear what new sound these brilliant musicians have come up with now.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Alone in the Dark, a Poem

Wednesday, June 16Th, 3:13 P.M.
Mood: Gloomy, Rested
Music: Sinkin' Soon, by Norah Jones

Alone in the Dark, A Poem
by: The Raven King


Do not leave me in the dark,
for I am so afraid.

The grinning skulls with their empty eyes,
stare blankly into mine.

And all around the spirits stir,
and gently sigh my name.

They blew out the lamps,
and said good all,
and left me here in the dark.


In the damp I sit.


'Til morning comes.


'Til end of time, for that is what I am.




I cry from the depths of this cell that holds me.

In the blackness I clutch my heart, and weep.

Weep for all that is gone.

All that is lost.

All that I will never see again.

The warmth of the sun.

The smell of the new fallen rain upon the bare earth.

The sight of lightning illuminating the sky.

The sound of the trees as the wind tosses them to and fro.

All this I have lost.

All there is now is darkness.

And I.



But am I?

For I can hear the spirits.

The souls of those who have passed before me.

And when I hear this I smile.

Though I may be alone in the dark.

For I know that when I join them, I can rejoice in their company.

But for now I am lost.




And will be until the day,

I leave this mortal toil.

And ascend into light.

"Til then I am here.


Monday, June 14, 2010

My Art

Monday, June 14Th, 6:08 P.M.
Mood: Tired, Pleased
Music: Sunrise, by Coldplay

For the past few days I have not been blogging, I have been drawing.
I seem to have found a new occupation of my time, pencil sketching.
Here, see what you think.
This is me...

I refer to him as "the conductor"

That is all for now. Over the next few days I will be posting more of my art, so stay posted...

Friday, June 4, 2010

Pondering the Skull

Friday, June 4Th, 7:17 P.M.
Mood: Much Better, Contemplative
Music: Beautiful Day, by U2

The ancients often contemplated the skull and all of it's meanings. As early as the fourteenth century we see examples of monks collecting skulls and, believing them to be the home of the soul, collected hundreds of them and built them into walls, chandeliers, and even furniture.

The skull is a really fascinating thing to me, as it holds so much significance for so many cultures. It carries not only symbols of death for some cultures, but symbols of victory, rebirth, or the ascension into the afterlife.

The skull is a symbol of death, and as prince hamlet so eloquently put it, "Poor Yorik, alas, I knew him well." But why has it become associated with death? Perhaps it is the first thing that we, as humans see in a skeleton of a poor dead soul. Perhaps we are looking for a face, and seeing the cold dead eye sockets of a skull are put off by their cold and unemotional gaze. Perhaps.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Where am I? A Poem.

Thursday, June 3Rd, 8:52 A.M.
Mood: Poetic, Still Slightly Sick
Music: The Mall and Misery, by The Broken Bells

Where am I? A Poem.
by :The Raven King

Where am I?

Would you happen to know?

I look all about me, through the rain.

Through the driving snow.

Through the crowds of people that come and go.

Never looking up from the cobblestone streets as they hurry
to the various appointments that their meager lives demand.

Why do they hurry so?

Why do they toil?

Don't they know that she is dead?

That I am alone?

That is why I ask, my friend.

Where am I?

For I seem to have lost myself, along with my way.

Please, don't forget yourself.

This is the only advice I can give you, oh fellow traveler.

For the road that this life has become is full of twists and turns,

of embankments, thieves, and chasms.

So go, go carefully.

And never forget to dream.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

SteamPunk Alphabet, An Apology, and an Excuse

Tuesday, June 1St, 10:06 A.M.
Mood: Slightly Sick (A Cold)
Music: Panic, Shear Bloody Panic, by Hans Zimmer

I have not posted in nearly three weeks. As you have probably guessed by now there where a few possible explanations for this. For example, I could have been incredibly negligent, I could have gone missing, my computer could have broken, or I could have died. Fortunately enough it was none of the above. I was on a cryptozoologic expedition to the coast. I was hoping to be lucky enough to have spotted the serpent that supposedly inhabits the bay of the area I visited, but I had no such luck. It was a wonderful respite from the stressful routines of everyday life, though. Most of the days I was there it rained, so I was able to walk along the beach in the fog, spotting scope in hand, in hopes of spotting the mysterious cryptid. I was then able to go into town to relax in the evening, sampling the cuisine of the local restaurants before retiring to my beach house. All in all, a successful exploit.

Apologies aside, that bring us up to today's post.

The SteamPunk Alphabet. By: The Raven King

A- Airship
B- Bolt
C- Chains
D- Dreadnought
E- Elements
F- Fire
G- Gears
H- Helium
I- Ingenious
J- Jacket
K- Kaleidoscope (Eye Piece)
L- Light Bulbs
M- Master Switch
N- Navigator
O- Operation
P- Patachute
Q- Questions
R- Rotors
S- Steam
T- Technology
U- Uranium
V- Victorian
W- Weld
X- Xray
Z- Zirconium

That's it for today. Don't worry though, I'm not about to leave on another trip anytime soon.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Thoughts on Music, Specifically Coldplay

Thursday, May 6Th, 10:07 A.M.
Mood: Thoughtful, Musical
Music: Misguided Ghost, by Paramore

I find Coldplay's music to be extremely deep and poetic. Their enchanting melodies and gloomy yet uplifting lyrics can raise my spirits, no matter how saddening any given day may be
(To listen to "Clocks", one of their more famous works, please open this link in a new window.)

My personal favorite of their collection is "Parachutes." It seems to best encompass their style, as well as their more dark and elegant songs.

(To Listen to "Shiver" ,one of my favorite tracks on this album, please open this link in a new window.)

Coldplay has a wonderful way of expressing the darker side of emotion while simultaneously bringing it into the light.

Listening to them always brings me a sense of hope and despair, sort of a mixed feeling of hope and hopelessness. It is a good feeling, sad, yet optimistic.

In my personal opinion the encompass the whole of good music, their gloom, light, lyrics, melodies, and all around talent continue to bring hope to those who appreciate good music.

Long may they live, and long may they play.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Mechanical Gloom - A Poem

Wednesday, May 5Th, 9 :52 A.M.
Mood: Gloomy, Poetic
Music: Postcards from Far Away, by Coldplay

(Please Listen to the Included Music Below While Reading this Poem.)

Mechanical Gloom, A Poem

A dark sky.
A spoken word.

The smoke pouring from the mighty stacks,
above the foggy cobblestone street below.

People shuffling too and fro.
Nowhere to come.
Nowhere to go.

The gears still turn.
The steam still pours.

The machines cannot feel.

They will continue to turn until the end of time.

Until the stars fall, the earth cracks, and the seas boil.

Even then, when all is dark and cold.

When all is dead,
and all is gone.

They will continue.

To what end I cannot say.

They are still there. You can see them if you wish.

They still work, they still toil and exhale their black smog as if sighing.

Though cracked and covered in rust and soil.

They work on.

They are all that is left.

Can a machine feel?

Can it love?

Can it hurt?


Can it die?

Or will it sit forever, in it's own mechanical gloom.

(This post originally contained a sound byte, please open another tab and click here to listen to it.)

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

My Bottom Ten

Monday, April 4Th, 10:08 A.M.
Mood: Pensive
Music: Aerodynamic, by Daft Punk

Accompanying yesterday's top ten, I now present for you my BOTTOM TEN LEAST favorite things.
Lets Get Started, Shall We?

1. Twilight (Shudder)
2. Anything "Teenage Vampire Romance Novel"
3. Sappy Poetry
4. The Host
5. Poorly Done Fan Fiction
6. The Prince of Tennis
7. Anything Pokemon
8. Gregor The Overlander
9. Fable Haven
10. The Vampire Diaries
(Seriously People! Vampires are blood drinking demons! No more! I Beg of You!)


1. Twilight: New Moon
2. Twilight
3. Percy Jackson
4. Anything Sports Themed
5. How to train your dragon
6. Shrek ANYTHING!
7. Pretty much anything DreamWorks (Pixar! For the Win!)
8. Scooby Doo
9. Anything with dogs playing sports
10. Anything with Clowns

1. Clowns
2. Politicians
3. Lawyers
4. Sock Puppets (Not Really People, But Still.)
5. Monkey Trainers
6. Angry Dwarfs
7. Bad Actors
8. Un-Funny Comedians
9. Stephanie Myer
10. The kid from Fable Haven.

1.Owl City2. Anything with Banjos3. All Country Music
4. Anything that Involves Animal Noises
5. Almost all of The Who6. Anything that involves a Dijery Doo7. Tribal Drums
8. People who THINK they can sing
9. Poorly Done Synth
10. Sucky Music



1. The Kids from Fablehaven
2. The "Dragon" from Fablehaven
3. Harry Potter (Admit it, the kid sucks.)
4. Ron
5. Edward
6. Bella
7. Jacob
8. The Doctor from "Lost in Space"
9. Captain Crunch
10. Spongebob

1. Bad Food
2.Bad Books
3. Bad Music
4. Stupid People
5. People who THINK they are right
6. Ignorance, in all its forms
7. bad poetry
8. bad art
9. ugly people (hurt my eyes)
10. People with big cars\trucks

Monday, May 3, 2010

My Top Ten

Monday, April 3Rd, 10:03 A.M.
Mood: Reflective
Music: Blue Orchid, by The White Stripes

For your viewing pleasure, I present my top ten of just about everything.
Lets Get Started, Shall We?

1. The Book Thief
2. Skulduggery Pleasant, The Faceless Ones
3. The Inheritance Cycle
4. Air Man

5. The Lord of The Rings
6. The Tunnels Series
7. The Chronicles of Narnia
8. Artemis Fowl
9. The Hunger Games
10. Dracula


1. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
2. SteamBoy
3. Sherlock Holmes
4. The Corpse Bride
5. Alice in Wonderland
6. The Nightmare Before Christmas
7. 9
8. I, Robot
9. Coraline
10. Gladiator

1. Nikola Tesla
2. Albert Einstein
3. Tim Burton
4. Danny Elfman
5. Edgar Allan Poe
6. Ray Bradbury
7. John Keats
8. Uthire Pendragon
9. J.R.R Tolkien
10. Chris Marten

2. U2
4. Phoenix
5. The Broken Bells
6. The White Stripes
7. Oingo Boingo
8. John Lennon
9. Danny Elfman
10. Pink Floyd



1. Saphira
2. Aragorn
3. Skulduggery Pleasant
4. Gandalf
5. Tanith Low
6. Edgar
7. Drake (from Tunnels, Deeper, and Free Fall)
8. Data
9. Edward Steam
10. Barnaby Grimes


1. Dragons
2. Sea Monsters
3. Black Tigers
4. Spotted Lions
5. Flying Snakes
6. Wyrms
7. Giant Lizards
8. Lake Monsters
9. MothMan
10. Previously Extinct Organisms

1. SteamPunk
2. Magic
3. Dragons
4. Poetry
5. Gloom
6. Science
7. Music
8. Cryptozoology
9. Mysteries
10. Airships

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Tim Burton Stuff

Wednesday, April 29, 9:46 A.M.
Mood: Gloomy
Music: Clocks, by Coldplay

I have to say that by far Tim Burton is my favorite film maker.
His twisted and gloomy settings, dark yet inspiring stories, and all around flair keep me enthralled and calling for more.

My favorite film of his, strangely enough, is a little known stop motion animation he created at Disney early in his film career. It is entitled Vincent.

(To Watch Vincent, Please Click Below)

is the story of a small boy who wants to grow up to be like Vincent Price. All throughout the seven minute film Vincent's regular life is shown in mostly white and gray scenes (the film was in black and white) that show him doing such things as playing with his sister, his dog, speaking nicely with his aunt and putting up with living in a crowded house.

The scenes then switch to his inner fantasies, what he wants his life to be like.

He imagines living alone in a dark and spacious home where he can "wander the halls, alone and tormented", dunking his aunt in a vat of wax, and preforming experiments on his dog, ambercrombie ( in hopes of creating a horrible zombie.)

He is sent to his room in the middle of the film for digging up his mother's flower garden in hopes of finding his "poor dead wife". After being banished to his room he sits alone and reads Edgar Allan Poe. (While other children read books like, Go Dog Go, Vincent's favorite author was Edgar Allan Poe.) After reading he pretends to be the tormented main character in The Raven. He imagines that he is trapped in his room forever, with only a portrait of his "beloved lost Loraine" to keep him company. He convinces himself that it has been years and that he is going insane. In the final scene he falls to the floor and, quoting Poe, says

"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Interestingly enough, after it's completion the film was rejected by Disney for being "To dark for children."

I personally think this film is brilliant and one of Burton's best.

No matter what your opinion of him is, you must admit he is a brilliant and visionary director not only in terms of cinematography, but writing as well.

I hope he continues to make films that delight and inspire the eccentric in all of us.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Here There Be Dragons

Tuesday, April 27, 10 :27 A.M.
Mood: Focused
Music: Seven Nation Army, by The White Stripes

Truly one can say that there is not a more pure symbol of power and magic than the dragon. Dragons have been revered for centuries as guardians and protectors in eastern culture, whereas western dragons tend to be viewed as evil creatures.

The existence of dragons remains questionable, however with the evidence provided by archeology we have discovered that nearly every culture had a dragon like god or symbol. All of these examples carry similar structures and themes, which leads one to wonder about the existence of these mysterious creatures.

Even today, there have been many sightings in lakes around the world of beings that could be described as dragons, or at least "dracopormorphic" animals.

Many locations around the world are traditional held by the people who live there as the home of dragons. For instance, the Reuss River, in Switzerland (pictured here) is held to be the home of "a massive sky serpent" that flew from a nearby lake into the upper part of the river in the early 16th century.

Loch Ness, the most famous site of dragon sitings in the world had it's earliest recorded siting in the 15th century. So these mystical beings have either reproduced by now or have incredibly long life spans, as we are taught by tales of dragons that have been passed on.

I often wonder if they do exist. Perhaps increasing pressure from human expansion and construction has forced them from their natural habitats and this can account for the increased number of sightings in recent years.

One can hope that these beautiful and mysterious creatures can continue living in a changing world as a last hope, a last glimmer of magic in a dimming time.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Thoughts on Runes

Monday, April 26, 10:28 A.M.
Mood: Magical
Music: Trouble, by Coldplay

I really like runic. Not only is it an ancient Scandinavian form of writing, but it is also incredibly beautiful in its form and design.

The ancients believed that they where not only a means of communication, but a method of channeling magic and creating a connection with nature and the elements. Even today, many believe them to contain magical properties.

As a project last summer, myself and a group of friends decided to learn to write fluently in runic. We succeeded, and even today we use runic instead of English when writing to one another.

I have also engraved some stones with runes, as a project. They turned out nicely and I was pleased with them. I then read about how the viking burned runes into wood, mostly fruit wood, because they believed through making a mark on something so natural, they could communicate with nature. They are also used as a form of writing by the elves, called Quenya, in Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. (Readers, Help! I have been unable to find a Quenya to English Translator! If you find one, please post a comment about it. Thanks!)

I really like runes, and the fact that they are still around from ancient times is an incredible gift to not only learn about the language and culture of these people, but also about their way of life and their beliefs.