Words to live by.

 

Read this the next time you are desperately longing for encouragement:

Don’t let fear decide how you live, what you wear, what you say, or what you do.  Identify your fear, understand it and accept it, and move on.

Coco Graham

I believe reality is a marvelous joke staged for my edification and amusement, and everybody is working very hard to make me happy.

Terence McKenna

 

From Pure Joy springs all creation.

By Joy it is sustained, toward Joy it

proceeds and to Joy it returns.

From the Sanskrit.

Taste Testing Curse of the Spider Woman.

My latest book, Curse of the Spider Woman is live! Unsure if you want to buy it? Here is the Prologue!

Buy at Amazon.

Prologue

“Look at that! The great god Hades gathering flowers on the riverbank like a lazy milkmaid.” The lieutenant of the Heirs of Socrates sneered. “Our emasculated Gods no longer care about the people of Greece.” Despite the touch of silver in his own hair, the lieutenant knew himself to be virile and manly. Not the sort who would wander like a barefoot hippie to appease his spoilt wife. 

His superior officer spoke. “They will care after today.” Pale blue eyes gazed over the valley of the River Styx. Nightmares, horses made of black smoke and red hooves, champed at their bits. “Easy, girls.” The general’s strong, competent hands gathered the reins for the chariot. “We charge as soon as he reaches for the narcissus.”

The lieutenant squinted. Distance in the Underworld was deceptive. What had once been a properly somber gray light was tinted with the gold of spring; another one of Hades’ ridiculous ideas to honor his wife, Persephone. No deity should cater to a woman in such indulgent ways. Instead of the traditional ash and cinders, the underworld now sported daisies, roses, and aromatic herbs like rosemary and thyme. The lack of tradition hardened the lieutenant’s resolve. 

Capturing Hades was the pivot point for the next phase of the Heirs’ plan to purify the land.

Hades plucked a daffodil. He caressed the cup-shaped center. A whiff of flame, and the flower transformed into a spray of yellow diamonds on an emerald stalk. 

The General slapped the reins on the night mares. “It is time.” The chariot surged forward down the slope, a streamer of red, black, and bronze as the nightmares unleashed their full speed.

The lieutenant’s gloved hand rose in the air, signaling the troops behind him to ready their weapons.

“Today we get the Gods out of the way of what must be done,” he stated. “We charge in, three, two…GO!”

All the troops on horseback charged, their mortal mounts slower but no less eager for the fight.

They had the element of surprise on their side, but Hades, King of the Underworld, was not some helpless, minor deity. All the dead, no matter their afterlife, obeyed his command. The land here itself responded to his desires. Never had he been defeated. The black-robed, black-haired god, his arms full of blooms for his beloved, waved a hand.

 The ghosts of the fiercest fighters of all time – Alexander the Great, Quintus Fabius Cuncator, the 104 Timberwolf Infantry – surrounded Hades. The land itself groaned and birthed skeletons, each armed with semi-automatic weapons.

Hades saluted the oncoming enemies. “Defend our land.”

 Unexpected bullets ripped through the offense.

 “Shit, shit, shit,” the lieutenant muttered. Guns? Where did an ancient God get guns?

 Salt peter and sulfur assaulted his nostrils. In front of him, scores of his troops fell, the horses screaming and the men writhing in agony.

The General swung a spiked ball on a chain, crumbling three skeletons with one blow. “We are not defeated yet,” his leader’s strong voice shouted. “We are not weak paper to crumple at the first resistance.”

Bolstered, the army rode on.

The shock troops trampled the skeletons, temporarily breaking them apart. Behind them, the second wave scattered the precious dragon’s teeth into the blood-soaked dirt. The general had traveled alone into the land of Colchis to find them. Giant soldiers sprang from the ground, the same ones that had defended the Golden Fleece from Jason and his Argonauts.

 “Attack.” Hades shouted and gestured with his staff. He placed his helmet of invisibility on his head and disappeared. The reformed skeletons engaged the dragon’s troops. Neither yielded, neither gained.

“Hiya!” With the skeletons busy, the general’s nightmares raced to where Hades had stood. The God was old and smart. Fortunately, the leader had done the proper research.

Invisible was not intangible.

A gloved hand dug into the pouch on the side of the chariot and flung what was found there. Fine, glittering dust flew into the air, coating everything and everyone in an incongruously pretty mist.

Not six feet from where had he had stood, Hades brushed at himself. The general dared much and grabbed the King of the Underworld. The Lieutenant removed the helm of darkness and swung his own club.

Hades fell insensate to the floor of the chariot.

“To the Caucasus mountains. I have the chains. They held the Titan Prometheus. They can tame this uninterested god.”

***

Hades twisted within the ancient manacles chained to the side of the mountain. The rocks reeked of old blood, viscera, and eagle droppings from the generations of Prometheus’ captivity. The old iron bit into his wrists, chewing away at his skin. Even though he healed as fast as he was damaged, blood dripped from the cuts. He was used to the cool shadows of his kingdom. The bright sun brought tears to his eyes and heated his black robes until he baked inside of them.

Zeus! He mentally shouted. I’m captured and trapped. Come rescue me with your lightning bolts.”

No response.

Brother, he cried again. Someone wants to destroy Greece.

Nothing. As God of the Sky, Zeus saw everything. Hades panted, panic nibbling at his psyche. What could have happened to his younger brother?

Poseidon. Where are you? Bring your earthquakes and topple this mountain to the ground. Together we can stop these horrors.

Again, silence. Something had gone wrong.

And Hercules was long dead, a mighty shade in the Elysian Fields. There were no heroes left that could break these chains.

Small black dots moved fast against the wind.

“And here come the eagles,” the lieutenant crowed. “They must be hungry after their long fast.”

The god gritted his teeth. There would be no respite from this torture.

The birds landed, clawed their way through his abdomen. These were not the enormous noble beasts of his brother Zeus. They would not carry a message to the lord of the sky, warning him of the Heirs of Socrates’ plans.

Their sharp beaks tore his skin open and they feasted on his liver. He made not a sound. His dark-eyed gaze held the enemy general, challenging his captor to witness what they had started.

The General broke the staring contest and turned to the white-faced army. Over the eagles’ triumphant noises, Hades heard the leader exhale.

“Forgive them, my Lieutenant. They are not yet inured to the realities of the necessity to overthrow the government and make Greece great again.”

“I will remind them we needed the Gods crippled to prevent any interference.”

“We don’t want a literal Deus ex Machina.” The General wiped at blood streaked forearms. “Phase Two is complete. Now, we start Phase Three.”

Buy here!

Curse of the Spider Woman!

Of course, Curse of the Spider Woman is a Linda Mercury novel, and no novel of mine is complete without a passionate love story.

My centaur hero and my spider heroine have some serious history behind them, and it has really messed with their attraction.Let's have a peek, shall we?

      She rolled onto her back, away from him.

       “Where the fuck are you going?” he asked. He flipped her over to her belly. This was the position his stallion preferred. His primitive centaur instincts battered his discipline. He had to have her, had to mate with her, fill her, fuck her, tie her to him with the fragile bonds of pleasure until she would never leave him again.

       No more exile in the human world. She would be his mare, his herd. He leaned over and set his teeth in her shoulder, as a breeding mortal horse would.

 

Self-love and The Beauty Myth.

Naomi Wolf

I was doing some wandering in my old files and found these words of wisdom from Naomi Wolf, from The Beauty Myth.

***

            Can there be a pro-woman definition of beauty? Absolutely. What has been missing is play. The beauty myth is harmful and pompous and grave because so much, too much, depends on it. The pleasure of playfulness is that it doesn’t matter. Once you play for stakes of any amount, the game has become a war game, or compulsive gambling. In the myth, it has been a game for life, for questionable love, for desperate and dishonest sexuality, and without the choice not to play by alien rules.  No choice, no free will; no levity, no real game.

 

          But we can imagine, to save ourselves, a life in the body that is not value-laden; a masquerade, a voluntary theatricality that emerges from abundant self-love. A pro-woman redefinition of beauty reflects our redefinitions of what power is. Who says we need a hierarchy? Where I see beauty may not be where you do. Some people look more desirable to me than they do to you. So what? My perception has no authority over yours. Why should beauty be exclusive? 

Admiration can include so much. Why is rareness impressive? The high value of rareness is a masculine concept, having more to do with capitalism than with lust. What is the fun in wanting the most what cannot be found? Children, in contrast, are common as dirt, but they are highly valued and regarded as beautiful.

  

        How might women act beyond the myth? Who can say? Maybe we will let our bodies wax and wane, enjoying the variations on a theme, and avoid pain because when something hurts us it begins to look ugly to us. Maybe we will adorn ourselves with real delight, with the sense that we are gilding the lily. Maybe the less pain women inflict on their bodies, the more beautiful our bodies will look to us. Perhaps we will forget to elicit admiration from strangers, and find we don’t miss it; perhaps we will await our older faces with anticipations, and be unable to see our bodies as a mass of imperfections, since there is nothing on us that is not precious. Maybe we won’t want to be the “after” anymore.

      

 How to begin? Let’s be shameless. Be greedy. Pursue pleasure. Avoid pain. Wear and touch and eat and drink what we feel like. Tolerate other women’s choices. Seek out the sex we want and fight fiercely against the sex we do not want. Choose our own causes. And once we break through and change the rules so our sense of our own beauty cannot be shaken, sing that beauty and dress it up and flaunt it and revel in it: In a sensual politics, female is beautiful.

          A woman-loving definition of beauty supplants desperation with play, narcissism with self-love, dismemberment with wholeness, absence with presence, stillness with animation. It admits radiance: light coming out of the face and the body, rather than a spotlight on the body, dimming the self. It is sexual, various, and surprising. We will be able to see it in others and not be frightened, and able at last to see it in ourselves.