Monday, April 21, 2014

Dusk and Midnight Essays

The essays in this collection concern various paranormal-occult phenomena, entities, and methods; many of them are given with real-life personal examples. The reader will find the material highly unusual, unfamiliar, and uncanny; they will encounter ectoplasm, psychic vampires, shadow people, hungry ghosts, ghost-repelling trees, ultraterrestrials, and more; there are theoretical essays on the Tarot, Ouija, quantum ghost-hunting, and more. In the final chapter is a collection of true stories, though the entirety is peppered with more strange, mysterious accounts of the author's personal paranormal experiences. The book does not have to be read cover to cover, the reader can jump in anywhere, use it as a convenient handbook, and if nothing else, enjoy the accounts of real-life paranormal experiences as bedtime or late-night entertainment past midnight and the witching hour.  

Preacherboy Adventures

From late 1979 through the early 80’s, he was a fundamentalist evangelical preacherboy. There was a hidden dimension to that young preacher, evangelist, and fundamentalist: he was a mystic. He was a mystic in spite of himself, he was a mystic and didn’t even know it. This book is a collection of autobiographical essays of preacherboy and his bumbling encounters with mystical, paranormal, occult phenomena, followed by a collection of a few pertinent theoretical essays, and finally, a little photo collection.  

Thursday, April 17, 2014

The Fire Practice

Original collage illustration by Emi Hensley
The Fire Practice
India Ink, NuPastel, and Bingo Marker on Papyrus

More work at:

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Small Town Blues

Let this journey,
One calamitous night, terminate
And reach, like the moon's beam,
That ancient brightness
Glistening across the inseparable
Hypnotic waves,
Beckoning to that other side?
Who tempts them
Far, far, away
Across the shore-less
Uninhabited coast line,
A distant fire burns
Far, far away,
They shall come to pass.

We too have sailed
by her stark cliffs,
numerous times
Without a map or co-ordinate,
Lulling through the calm of it all
While in our hearts
We knew a lighthouse
Raged far out to sea
Signaling for signs
We waited and listened for,
Hope, like blatterwrack drooping
Through the cleansed hands
And the sure oars resistance
Vibrating the azure light
And the drying shells
Detached in the whiteness
Out of sight and underfoot
Unnoticed like the truth
Measured in the lunar cycle
Of tides glanced like regrets?

Yet overhead- there is but one
Season, always painted that colour-
The Gulls decry, its estranged name
Tormenting like Lovers- this world
Far beneath where we are? moved
Or move- as the voyagers of fate
Renewing our vows on the salt
And pebbles cleansed in the vastness
Of these lonely small town coastal
Girls with their shipwrecked women
Whose boyfriends never matured
And whose husbands have gone
Like Penelope's, 30 year awaiting-
In her tidy nursing home, now,
Quite faded, but always asking
To be told the daily news
About that captain, she can
No longer hear nor see anymore.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Lugg's Kingdom

There is no denying it-
Lugg is my name- I am
The whistling in the brambles
The rain in the thistles drop
And the blood in a robin’s breast-
I am- the distant silhouette- you see
I am many things- infinite and vast
Like an ocean in the mind's eye
Where there is no going back
Nor no looking forward- I am here
Near this brook’s gentle stream
Partaking the common bread
With the soft peat compressed
Softly under my feet, I am
Not the Shepherd, The sheep
The lost, The lame, The excluded
The One with the mute kingdom
Of stone, Of infinity, Of solitude
Where miles shall echo, just so
Where I await not Man nor God-
For here I'm Lugg and I'm everything.