by jcgjr

“Higher Learning (The Bermuda Edition)” - Smuve...

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 20:34:00 -0400

“Higher Learning (The Bermuda Edition)” - Smuve & Focus McFly

I edited this.

One more thing...

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 19:01:23 -0500

I should tell y’all I have a new short story on the way called “Night Caller”! It’s gonna be published here soon but I would LOVE (no lie) if you showed some love and purchased a copy of the ebook when it’s released. It’ll only be a few bucks and it helps to keep me going. So help me! If you wish…

Hmm release/re-lease… To lease again? That type of linguistical examination is best suited to my other blog, mtblur.tumblr.com! Enjoy, if you’re into that sorta thing. ;)

un-gif-dans-ta-gueule: Corsica December 2012

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 18:46:43 -0500

un-gif-dans-ta-gueule:

Corsica December 2012

Hi y'all

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 18:45:51 -0500

I just wanna say hi to all my Tumblr friends! Hope you’re all well and that we have pleasant seasons ahead.

“That’s It”

Fri, 30 Nov 2012 12:39:44 -0500

“That’s It”

“All I Have Is Time (Extended Version)” - Smuve...

Sun, 04 Nov 2012 16:48:43 -0500

“All I Have Is Time (Extended Version)” - Smuve & Focus McFly

I edited this.

Inadvertent Verdant (part fifty-five)

Wed, 12 Sep 2012 00:27:28 -0400

My studies on the Verdant mountain top possessing no definite shape, I returned to the cave where my guide and loyal apostle waited for me with a warm pot of broth and the news of that day’s events. That evening I fitted myself comfortably into his surroundings.

Jude still spoke in that guttural tone which made him indistinguishable from the rest of his people, but I had begun to teach him the King’s English, and thusly we communicated.

“They say you’re no ordinary man,” Jude said. “They say you’re the All-Comer.” It was the first time I have heard of that description.

“Explain that, dear Jude,” I said. He explained that the All-Comer was a figure whom the Inadvertent Vertians had consistently noticed within their history, appearing at the most unexpected of times, always, it was said, bringing enlightenment (or severe discomfort - depending on the group).

Jude looked at me earnestly. “Are you he,” he asked me. “I most certainly am NOT,” I replied, for what else was I about to do aside from lie again, which was a skill I scarcely faulted from improving?

Table

Fri, 13 Jul 2012 17:57:00 -0400

Way of the Charmed Snake
Dawn
The Watchman
Omniadoodle
Mandala I: The Lockbox & The Peachtree’s Story
Inadvertant Verdant: I, LV
b u r n t u p
All I Have Is Time (+)

A film by Shawn Nolan, “B U R N T U P”. I helped...

Fri, 08 Jun 2012 10:49:00 -0400

A film by Shawn Nolan, “B U R N T U P”. I helped make this.

Inadvertant Verdant (part one)

Tue, 05 Jun 2012 12:51:55 -0400

Far out into the reaches of deep space there once existed a planet for approximately one of our standard Earth minutes. The name of this planet, as one scientist scribbled in his notebook one sunny afternoon, was “Inadvertant Verdent” [sic]. There ran a hypothesis which stated that, given this planet’s space-time location during its lifespan, there was a great likelihood that this development was spurred on by man’s first venture into time travel. Sending a man one minute into the past inspired the formation, fruition, and decay of Inadvertant Verdent [sic].

Though there was much speculation and disbelief over such an outrageous theory, various doctors seemed to agree that such an idea was an astonishing, and foreboding, one, for if nature compensated from such an obscene use of its laws, what else had happened in the universe at the expense of man’s curiosity?

There was much hysteria brought about by this question, and it was soon determined (and not without whimsy) that the only way to arrive at an answer was by sending a reporter (me) not only back in time but to Inadvertant Verdent [sic] itself, and there chronicle its rise and calamitous fall for the benefit of all mankind. Or something like that.

Photo

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 15:09:00 -0400

The Peachtree's Story

Sun, 27 May 2012 12:00:00 -0400

There in the woods he met a yogi. “Tell me teacher,” said the young Peachtree, “I am wondering why I bear peaches.”

“Did no one answer you before,” inquired the yogi. “You are a peachtree, and peaches are what peachtrees bear.”

Dissatisfied with the yogi’s answer, the Peachtree then lifted himself up by the roots, and embarked on a long journey to find out why he bore peaches.

“I don’t even like the peaches I peach,” moaned the young Peachtree.

He would later come upon a cropper who hated to crop, and the Cropper sympathized. “Why, oh friend, should we spend our lives hating what we do, and not take up new professions,” he explained. “You to bear the things you desire, and I to become a pilot, for I always wanted to fly.”

“My friend,” rejoined the young Peachtree, “A pilot or a bird? Become that which you believe, but why not be the thing a pilot wishes to imitate, rather than the imitation itself?”

“My friend, you are wiser than your years. But how does a man become a bird?”

“Oh I don’t know,” the Peachtree pondered. “Birds always nest in my branches. Perhaps if you joined me on my journey and climbed onto my branches, we will both find our answer.”

Excited (though the Cropper didn’t really believe he would become a bird), he climbed onto the Peachtree’s branches, and together they continued on their journey.

“Why become a bird,” the Cropper whispered to his friend one evening, “when I can become the wind? Come, let us travel to a distant castro I know which overlooks the sea. It is a village which is eternally windy, being situated on bluffs, and perhaps we will find my answer.”

The Peachtree acceded, and proceeded to the castro. On the way there, however, he became forlorn, because he still did not know the answer to his own question, and wondered if he would ever know why he bore the peaches he bore, which were then of greater size than ever.

When they arrived at the castro, they were surprised to find it in ruins. They were wary to speak with the professor there, knowing that men such as he could lie, or tell an approximation of the truth without being forthright. But he was the only one in that lonely place, and they soon all sat together at the edge of the bluff overlooking the Great Sea, and the sunset beyond it.

The Professor was a straight-talking man, and he welcomed them warmly. He sat and shared his meal with them. When he heard their plight, he sighed genuinely. “My eyes have been so bad, my friends,” he spoke, “that I can no longer see the sunset as beautifully and clearly as I could in my youth. I will tell you a story, if it will help you.”

They hastened him to do so.

“Long ago, when I was a boy,” he spoke, then corrected himself. “No, long ago, when I was a young man who had boyish ways, I took it upon myself to travel the length of a great beach nearby. It was a fantastic beach, and no matter how many people filled it, there was always so much space for each person to be in privacy, so big was this beach. Well, I walked and I walked and finally, after such a solitary time with none other but myself and a staff of driftwood, I arrived at the end of the beach. A lane of water cut off the land and formed a small lagoon, and there I saw two lovers. About the region were signs warning them of the tide. I was titillated but I did not want to be discovered. I stood nearby, just out of their sight.

“’Why do you love me,’ one lover would ask the other, and the other would rejoin ‘Why do you love me,’ and then they would state an infinitude of reasons why they each loved each other so.

“’I will tell you truly,’ I finally heard one of the lovers say, ‘I love you because of who you are and not who you consider yourself to be, for that can have many faults, and not one of them be true.’

“’And I love you,’ the other lover would rejoin, ‘for the very same reason.’

“’We could become ghosts and our love would still be true.’

“’Hold me.’

“’We could be others and our love would still persist.’

“’I love you.’

“’And together, we can be ourselves – no matter who we believe ourselves to be, because our love defines us.’

“And I left the two lovers to the silence which followed them, my friends, and I carried that event with me on my travels forever afterward, to the far ends of the earth. I found these words to be true elsewhere,” the Professor concluded. When he looked, he found the Peachtree and the Cropper in tears.

“Who will love us,” they asked him, for they felt love was more important than whatever else they desired.

“I don’t know,” the Professor said. “That is something you have to find out for yourselves.”

And the Peachtree and his companion left the castro. They wondered why they did not cast themselves into the sea from the bluffs, instead, for they wandered so aimlessly afterward. They could not find someone to love them, but they had each other, and they realized that had to count for something.

So it was one day they arrived at my little garden. I was alone here at the time, because the garden wasn’t a garden then, just a small dirt-patch with shrubs. But I was happy here, nonetheless. When I first saw the Peachtree and his companion arrive, I was astounded – never before did I ever see such a willful being as the Peachtree, or so loyal a companion as the Cropper. They told me their long story, and myself being the storyteller I am, I remembered every word. I felt it would later be important, and I wasn’t wrong. I didn’t know what to do to comfort them, they were so very weary from their journey, so I said to them, “You should stay here in the garden with me. It will be a garden someday, I promise. It will treat you as beautifully as it has treated me, and I hope we will encounter others as beautiful as you have been to me.”

And they trusted me, thankfully, and stayed here for a long time. Finally, a strange miracle happened. The Peachtree released the fruit he long bore on his branches, for they had grown to such a tremendous size during his travels. The progeny dropped onto the dirt, and took root there. They began to grow! And the Cropper did his best to care for the young peachtrees, while they deferred to their father for support. The Peachtree, older and wiser from his travels, was first astounded by his fruit, then obliged them paternally. And so it was that our Peachtree and Cropper found love from the fruits of their journey, and gave us the garden which we so now heartily enjoy. So thank them!

From Mandala I, an epub available on lulu.com, the iBookstore, and Barnes & Noble.

The Lockbox

Wed, 23 May 2012 00:35:00 -0400

My friend, I once knew a man who had dedicated his life to opening up a locked box. When I asked him what the box contained, he said, “I know this box contains happiness.” One day, many years later, he told me that he had skipped money, fame, and fortune, just so he can open up the locked box.

Until that very day, that box remained sealed.

From Mandala I, an epub available on lulu.com, the iBookstore, and Barnes & Noble.

Transient submissions deadline extenstion: May 18, 2012

Fri, 18 May 2012 11:44:30 -0400

Transient submissions deadline extenstion: May 18, 2012:

DO THIS!

transientpublishing:

Today is the deadline for submissions for Transient’s inaugural issue (due out July 2012). However, since it is mid-week, we will be extending our deadline through Friday, May 18th, so be sure to get those submissions in!

Omniadoodle

Sun, 13 May 2012 14:35:00 -0400

For Lisa Schwichtenberg

I didn’t meditate as such; sometimes I merely laid there resting. One day, I found an intruder within my self.

“I know you can sense me,” he said, “and I am here to give you a warning; cease what you’re doing or pay the penalty.”

“What’s the penalty,” I heard myself ask sleepily.

“Your dreams are ours,” he said. “You only make the choices within them. Go outside now and recover what you’ve lost, or else.”

I somehow knew that something he said was not entirely true.

“I will leave,” he then said. “You will find nothing here, at all.”

And I saw a glimpse of that intruder in a dark room. I can barely remember him, but it was a man, and he had a mostly bald head. The room I also saw was so obscure, yet so familiar, my senses danced as I tried to remember where I saw it before.

Then, the intruder and the room vanished.

I awoke, not knowing what to call this experience. It felt both less than real and more than a dream.

I looked on the Internet and visited various libraries. I could not find any information involving this kind of visitation, however one story came close.

Barnaby Climstach lived north of me, in West Orange, New Jersey. He died in 1975. Before he died, on his deathbed he told his son Jeff about an encounter he had with a being on the slopes of a mountain. The being was “purely in his mind”, and told Barnaby that if he did not depart from the mountain and return to his group immediately, the being would make him go mad. The being – a figure in a dark robe – had mentally presented him with a picture book. When Barnaby – an advertising executive for most of his life – saw a particular picture in this book, he immediately knew he could go mad, “regardless of his pragmatic nature and sense of western sophistication”.

I had found this story in an occult zine, and had no idea if it was legitimate. Over the next few months I managed to find the publisher of this zine and inquired as to the validity of the Climstach article. The publisher’s email reply was:

“it’s definitely real. All the stories are. no other mag will publish them because it’s real shit. The names are fake – I take those out of novels. You’ll want to contact James White if you have any other questions.”

The publisher then provided an email address and a phone number. I received no response by email, so I called.

The phone number the publisher supplied turned out to be Mr. White’s office number, and he replied promptly when I called him one weekday afternoon.

When I told him the purpose of my call, he replied, “Oh yes, Dad’s story. Yes it’s very real, unless he made it up, but it was unlike my father to make up a story like that.”

I told him I had a similar experience and wanted to share it with him. There was silence for a moment, and then he said:

“Alright. But now is not a good time. Are you available to talk on the phone this Friday evening? My wife would be out of the house then and this is a – a tough subject for her to deal with. She and my father were really so close. His death was tough on all of us.”

Maybe he really went mad, I thought. I told Mr. White about the zine publisher’s email, how he had mentioned the story was real.

“Oh yes,” he said, chuckling, “It was real alright, like I said, but not in the way you expect.”

This gave me pause. “What do you mean?”

From the phone I heard something sounding like a chair creaking, and then a sigh. “It’s going to have to wait until Friday,” he said.

Our phone call ended not too long after that. What did he mean that it was real but not in the way I expected?

I spent the rest of the week turning questions over and over within my mind. I remembered the Climstach/White story, and read it repeatedly. The robed being had transmitted to Mr. White’s father a very clear idea of what insanity was, and that prompted him to flee from the mountain, causing the robed being to vanish from his mind.

I attempted to apply this logic to my own story. Would I go insane if I persisted with my own interior quests? Would the being appear to me again? Was it even the same being that appeared in Mr. White’s story? Why didn’t I just give this all up, get a job, get married, and forget this whole thing – just like the being initially suggested I do?

I remembered my own words, “Follow the path”, and decided to continue.

That Friday, Mr. White surprised me with a call earlier in the day than I expected. I was so taken I stood up as I talked to him.

“My wife suggested I should apologize for leaving you in suspense,” Mr. White said, good-naturedly. “She really is my better-half, I suppose.”

He then asked if it was alright calling me on what he presumed to be my lunch hour, and then asked, not without pausing somewhat dramatically first, “So… you’ve been tapped yourself?”

“Tapped?” I asked.

“Yes, by them.”

“Are you talking about the being,” I began, “I would hardly call that being tapped – ”

“We’re speaking a different language,” I remember him saying. “It sounds to me you’ve studied subjects like this – subjects most people would call paranormal – for a long time. Would that be right?”

I told him I’ve always had a casual interest in subjects like that; I thought many people did.

“And according to my experience, you’re right,” Mr. White said. “And there are many others who don’t care for it. I don’t understand that, myself, as engaging in an experience like the one you’ve had can come to redefine what anyone thinks of as real – that old chestnut!”

“Oh… yeah,” I said. “I mean, if you see a ghost or a UFO or something and you’re an accountant working a nine-to-five, or something like that, it’s gonna cause some trouble, right?”

“Right,” Mr. White said. “And the reason I asked you if you’ve studied that was because, as you may well know already, no matter how small the experience you may have had was, it will be grand forever afterward.”

He paused.

“So tapped may not be the right word for you, but in hindsight, maybe you will consider it as right a word as any to faithfully describe your experience.”

“Right, right,” I said.

“I communicate with them, you know.”

It took me a few moments to register this.

“Them – ”

“The robed ones. They did not tell me about you,” he said.

I didn’t know what to say to this.

“There’s a group of us who care to meet you tonight. We’ve seen them. We can help.”

“Mr. White…” I said, feeling funny first, then some anxiety.

“Yes,” he said. It sounded like he exhaled. “Yes, I know. This tends to be…” He paused. “Alright. I will call you later on tonight – or will you call me?”

“I’ll call you,” I said.

“Alright then. I’m sorry for being the cause of any discomfort. I’m not used to this yet myself, and it’s been thirty years.”

“I understand.”

“Yes. Alright then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” I said, then hung-up, but not before I heard him hang-up first.

I sat down and then rubbed my face. What was I getting involved with now? A bunch of weirdos who talk to spirit guides? This was getting a bit too bizarre for me, and as I was relaxing from this encounter, I thought about going for a walk outside. There had been a sizable snowfall a few nights ago, and I thought it would introduce a nice and well-deserved change of scene. I decided to take my dog out for a walk too.

I couldn’t tell you exactly how refreshing going on that walk felt. As my dog and I strolled through the neighborhood, our faces were dusted by loose snow caught in gusts of wind. The sight of snow dancing circles in the wind reminded me of the sights of dust devils I’ve often seen on television or at windy beaches. I thought about what the snow equivalent of that would be called… snow devils? I thought I had my head too much in the forbidden lately, and wanted to forget about it.

A little later, as I was warming up my car, I could’ve sworn I saw something move outside, out of, yes, the corner of my eye. I really needed to stop this devilry business – if it really was that, and it was beginning to feel to me like it was.

I didn’t call White back that night – I had made a decision not to – and I didn’t hear from him. As I thought about it afterwards, I wondered if I was being disingenuous, or a coward. Then I thought if one was taking steps further and further into a murky swamp when one didn’t intend to, the most sensible thing one can do is turn around and head back to high and steady ground.

I slept, and some time afterward I felt I needed to explore my family’s Roman Catholic faith. I remembered taking Communion, and never going to a CCD class again after that. I wanted nothing to do with the religion business. I came to agree strongly with the attitudes of people I felt were learned – that religion was mostly brainwashing for a dumbed-down populace, perhaps incapable of making their own decisions. I didn’t know how I felt about religion now that I was older; what I knew of was the sense of unity I saw in the family who lived across the street from me. They had experienced, they said, miracles with Jesus, though they were Pentecostal and not Roman Catholic. Though I was grateful they shared their miracle stories with me, I kept my own counsel. But how wonderful, I thought, that they can be so happy and be neighborly and so pious.

I knew I had to look into religion again, and follow the senses strongly within myself. I had dreams about it.

It was another story, now done, not that it took long, self-contained and self-perpetuating within the ink-strokes forming the glyph; delegated to the upper right-hand corner of the parchment, as the phenomena of doodles usually were.

Sometimes, the monk would think how unusual it was indeed that the work he and his brethren undertook (by His Lord’s Grace) instantaneously influenced the lives of The Mass. How peculiar that The Mass did not see the obvious!

Why, he thought, if I wrote, thought, spoke, and lived the ideas with which a stranger provided me, I would certainly know about it. Don’t we feel a mosquito when it lands on our bald heads? I would be sure I would certainly know another’s influence, and be doubly suspicious of them too!

“Ad opus!” It was the cry of the Archdeacon, or was it the Mother Superior?

The monk started his other doodling immediately. Soon, he knew he could eat.

Available as an epub from Lulu.com, the iBookstore, and Barnes & Noble.

Only 5 more days to submit to Transient's First Issue

Thu, 10 May 2012 14:32:14 -0400

Only 5 more days to submit to Transient's First Issue:

transientpublishing:

Transient’s first issue is due out in just a couple of months, and that means the deadline for submissions is rapidly approaching. All submissions must be received by May 15th. For more information about the submissions process, please visit our Submissions page.

Transient is a publication put out by a good friend of mine and I want to call out all writers, artists, talents to lend a hand.

The Watchman

Mon, 07 May 2012 11:03:00 -0400

For Jason & Kimberly Zapata

I have been stationed in the desert for a long time. I am the lone watchman of my outpost because I was left behind by my unit to keep watch here. That is what I intend to do.

Sometimes the gusts grow and blow and I see shapes in the grain. It is quiet here. I do love the sound of quiet. With my binoculars I see the armies march off in the distance but here it is quiet. I have much in the way of food and if I like I can travel down to the village below to buy more food, though the villagers feed me for free since they know me there. I then travel back up the hill to the fort again. I love being by myself up there.

The grains of sand whisper to me at night then they are silent. At morning I march around the perimeter with my weapon held evenly. I do this all day. When the moon is full I do it all evening. The villagers watch me at night. I see their lights on and their shadows in the windows.

Sometimes I become so lonely I want a friend, so I speak with the villagers. They are lovely people though I am told by my army they are fools for not fighting. I don’t care. They are good people and I like them. They know not to fight and I like them for that. I really do. They tell me about the history of the old fort. Their fathers and their fathers’ fathers fought there, though they forgot why. That is why they don’t fight anymore, because they will soon forget.

Listening to them makes me think of my home country, how the people there had fathers and fathers’ fathers who have died fighting. What did they die fighting for? I miss my family there very, very much, and I love them, and I hope they miss me too.

For years I have been stationed here. I don’t know about the war. I hope there is no more death. At night I lay at the parapet and I search the horizon for fires. I do this for a long time. My imagination starts to think the stars I see are at war with the shadowy earth. I am being taught the names of the stars too. I know Aldebaran and Polaris and Betelgeuse. I like those names. Those names sound so mysterious to me it seems to match how mysterious the stars are in the sky. I feel the awe of a child.

I have married and took a wife from among my friends, the Villagers. She is very beautiful, and I’ve known her since she was a little girl. I want us to be happy. I want the Village Father to be right when he said the shadow of the cloak of war has now passed. I wish to be happy and lay down my weapon and live in peace. This makes me scared to scan the horizon at night. I still fall asleep with my wife by my side, and I think I am so blessed, I want my child with her, I want my child to be as beautiful as her, as mysterious as the sounds these people make when they say the names of the stars. My heart beats honest and true at all these things and I am so happy when I fall asleep and start my days again. I can hardly believe where I am, though I know it is true.

How did I get here? Why is that fort on the hill? And why is it empty? Today my friends, my wife, and my children will break it down, brick by brick, so we may build our house. I will give my children these binoculars I found so that they may see the stars. Aldebaran, Polaris, Betelgeuse, Alderamin…

Available as an epub from Lulu.com, the iBookstore, and Barnes & Noble.

Last night, Cinco de Mayo, I had the pleasure of reading...

Sun, 06 May 2012 16:25:00 -0400

Last night, Cinco de Mayo, I had the pleasure of reading “Way of the Charmed Snake” and “The Watchman” to a studio filled with artists, writers, and performers of all ages, at Julius LaMar’s 99% Plus One Art Show. The show was great, eclectic, and free. I was honored to have my companion Sabrina join me at my side, as well as fellow artist Lisa Schwichtenberg and her friend (and now ours), Ray, in attendance. Next time I should post up some pictures and video from the event, if available, and encourage many others to participate and enjoy Julius’s upcoming events. (His next show will be “Top Dog Underdog”, in June).

Video

Thu, 03 May 2012 13:07:12 -0400

Way of the Charmed Snake

Wed, 02 May 2012 13:03:00 -0400

One day, as God strolled through his happiest garden, he came upon a crowd surrounding a small child who was trembling and pale, on the brink of death.

The child spoke in a dwindling voice only God heard. “We offered a snake something to eat, O beloved Lord, and it bit me. I was bitten by a snake, O Lord.”

And God grew worried, and observed the child’s wound, and then laughed. “This bite was not from hatred, little one,” he whispered back, “but from respect. For the snake saw your kindness, and thanked you the only way he could. Do not fear, for snakes are thoughtful creatures, like you and I.”

And the child, soothed by the words God had spoken, stopped trembling, and died.

And God, turning to the sad people, said to them: “The child was mistaken. It was not a snake because snakes do not bite. Their fangs are many sizes too small for such a thing! There is no snake. Now bury the child, for you are compassionate people.”

So the people of the garden did what God ordered.

It was on another day, as God strolled through the square of his most compassionate village, when he came upon a group of the angriest men he had ever seen.

One of the angry men stepped forward. “Lord,” he began, the anger shaking his voice, “as we were at work in the quarry we uncovered a den of snakes. They attacked us, and murdered many men without reason. Now we will go with all our might and will teach them man’s justice!”

“And as you are mightier than the snakes, am I not mightier than man?” asked God. “And as men are masters of men’s reasons, I ask you, who amongst us are masters of a snake’s reasons? Or a god’s? For as the snakes’ attack angered you, your attack against the snakes will anger me, and I would only be too willing to teach you my justice.”

And the men’s great anger became a great fear and they fell to their knees.

And God said to them: “Snakes are sensible creatures, like you and I. I forbid you to harm them. For harming them will be like harming yourselves.”

So the men swore to God, and God was satisfied knowing the promise would be well-kept.

But one day, as God strolled through his grandest city, he came upon a snake about to be slaughtered by a mob of people. “Help me! Help me!” the snake yelled.

And God grew angry. “Did I not say to you people that no snake is to be harmed?”

“Only for so long, great merciful Lord,” spoke the snake. “They have murdered my cousins, the lizards and the belly-crawlers. They have massacred the animals, tall-beasts and low. They have drained the waters of all creatures, catching them with ingenious devices of thread, hook, and steel. But it did not take long for us snakes to see through their plan – they were starving us! As we did not find rats and critters, our jaws grew long for human size as our bellies ached for human meat. And so we began to eat them, O wise God, for what else were we to do?”

And God nodded. “You speak well and true, wise snake. Did I not tell you people that snakes were sensible, like you and I?”

And when the people saw great snakes equaling their size surround them, that was when they realized that not only had God charmed the snakes, but the snakes had also charmed God.

Available as an epub from Lulu.com, the iBookstore, and Barnes & Noble.