all eyes turn aglow at dusk
casting shades on faces facing faces
the song on the wind
faint as the laughter
at carnivals dark trading youth
for hearts' deepest longing
carnival
9 comments on carnivalUpcoming gothic western serial
base art generated by Gemini; text and design by michael raven While Sunny Day Parasol Co., the serialized noir I’ve been posting, has been “in the can” for about a week now and the publication of the story has been winding up, I have not been idle with the spare time I have had at my disposal.
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Case File #13: Quicksilver
an episodic Vivian Locke occult noir
Image generated by Gemini, with direction by Michael Raven Sunny Day Parasol Co.
Case File #13: Quicksilver
This is a serialized story. Start with Case File #1 here.
“I’ll pass on the gin,” I said, keeping my posture relaxed but ensuring my right hand rested casually near the slit in the midnight blue silk. “It dulls the reflexes, and I prefer to keep my head clear when I’m collecting a fee.”
Cross’s smile didn’t waver. He leaned back, his tailored suit seeming to absorb the harsh glare of the chandelier above us.
“Fair enough. Though I notice you are traveling remarkably light for a retrieval job, Miss Locke. Tell me you didn’t leave my property sitting in the back of that rented hack you took from the Brass Canary. It would be a terrible shame to lose our investment to a common cab driver.”
“I wouldn’t insult either of us by being careless,” I said. My left hand, wrapped tight in fresh white gauze, went to the velvet clutch resting in my lap. My burnt fingers brushed the velvet, feeling the unnatural, freezing weight of Kogan’s ward humming against the escrow token.
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episodic fiction, hardboiled, noir, occult noir, prompted fiction, sunny day parasol co., vivian locke, writing challengefiled under:
casting runes — 20mar26
raido the whisper-trace of song
slendering on the breeze
and crow — crow calls
echoing slumber dreams
held by dragonflies sunningA poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is raido, which has been translated as “ride” and the implied “journey”. This may be spatial and literal in practice (a physical journey), or it may be more figurative (an inner/shamanic journey, i.e., útiseta). The rune is associated with cyclic motion and the movement of the sun. Some consider the journey represented by raido to be that of returning.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
new moon skies
it's easy to believe
all the pretty little lies
we whisper to our heart
under cover of dark
under the new moon skiesankh
just a taste
a liver taste
just a taste of you
he takes a measure
and jackal laughs
he drinks a life of youcasting runes — 19mar26
sowilo a new shaft of illumination
punches through
this thick head, mine:
some words given great weight
are but feathers on
the winds of expediencyA rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is sowilo, the sun. Sowilo is the source of enlightenment, for lighting the way and illumination. It is also called the “icebreaker” and gives power to an “attack”, ensuring success and/or prosperity. This rune also represents hope, the light at the end of a long darkness.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
ash
i dream in lapis and ebon
pale and on cheeks high
gliding on twixt and tween
she phantoms deserts on nighttrees fall down
all our trees
fall down
matchsticks
in summer
stone storms
come your
burning fields
and salted soil
all our trees
fall down
catch them allCase File #12: The Devil’s Doorway
an episodic Vivian Locke occult noir
Image generated by Gemini, with direction by Michael Raven Sunny Day Parasol Co.
Case File #12: The Devil’s Doorway
This is a serialized story. Start with Case File #1 here.
The scalding water of the club’s cast-iron shower felt like an exorcism. I stood under the sputtering spray until the hot water tank coughed its last, watching the black, sulfurous grime of the past eighteen hours… Had it only been eighteen hours? …swirl down the drain like a broken promise.
I stepped out into the humid, cramped bathroom and dried off with one of the thick, luxurious towels The Canary kept around — one of several small luxuries afforded the employees who worked the club. I winced, tracing the deep, clean glass cuts across my left hand, then carefully redid the bandages. A girl gets used to the sight of her own blood in this city.
Margot had left a dress hanging on the door. Midnight blue silk, the kind that whispered promises. It was cut on the bias to cling like a second, dangerous skin, but with a slit high enough to allow a full, unimpeded draw from a thigh holster. I strapped the heavy snub-nose to my leg, the cold steel a comforting anchor against the soft fabric, and slipped the silk over my head.
A sharp knock rattled the frosted glass of the door.
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episodic fiction, hardboiled, noir, occult noir, prompted fiction, sunny day parasol co., vivian locke, writing challengefiled under:
