DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/12/08

In the depths before the face, the darkness black as paint: an archway as in a garden, lit of frozen lightning, bolts as thick as plaited kraken arms.
The tiles before this way are blown cornerwise by the strength, horrent scales of a strained and bristling fish, so the stars could peer between, those that ventured close enough below.
Those beasts that glided here and there about that lighted gap, grey as moth-eaten dust, skinless, featherless, hairless, scaleless, trailing stringy shrouds, and their glimpsed as heads tight as small ape skulls.

All at once, into the weighted silence: drills that shattered the tiles, tearing and porpoising forwards; sure or desperate they were a force of anger. For well or ill they failed, the deathly solid gleam prevailed, and shone unmoved through the filtering particles of the assailants’ defeat.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/12/08

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #EssenceMap 2023/12/05


Deep: 1.37%-3.08%
‘sifted surface listen listen’
‘dry bubble space, spaces another pressed a meagre spreading sphere cluster’
Grain: FE-grey-gry
‘gleaning hollows of powdery sprigs’ – ‘slow-motion thrashing in threshing’

Deep: 56%
‘unknown dark long threading through the medium’
‘dying avocado’
Anagram: oil
Grain: FO-grow-grw
‘combed medusa corpse ineffective’
Deep: 4.3%-77.001%-2.00%
‘Silver Trombone’
Juxtaposition: /\/
Grain: FOO-groww-gww
‘cunning key fan’
Deep: 55.4%-56.9$
Grain: FD-delta-dlt
‘if all the bereft’

Deep: 6.06%
‘dove-tailed duck feet 8-inch boots deep in dry’

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #EssenceMap 2023/12/05

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/12/03

Heshod blew on his hands to warm them. He stood before the grey-brown warped door. Above the earthen wall roared the sky, a thousand more wheels than he could count, every point and line shaking dust and striking dim sparks.
Beneath his feet was another door. Another wall stretched out behind his heels, a wall of hard, earth-coloured brick, sticky and stained. Above the top of this wall also another sky rattled and rolled.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/12/03

SabbathPosts 2023/12/02

Wastefulness is to dishonour God: if there is anything you would sacrifice for God, it means nothing if you would sacrifice the same thing for nothing.

“The slothful man roasteth not that which he took in hunting: but the substance of a diligent man is precious.” Pr 12

Unless something is precious to you, you can give nothing precious to God.

It is a temptation to confuse greed and desire, and so to excuse ingratitude as contentment.

“he that loveth wine and oil shall not be rich” Pr 21

Note that he is saying “not be rich” as a consequence. If you love the Giver of wealth, then you love wealth as a good gift from the good Giver.

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights” Ja 1
“I have also given thee that which thou hast not asked, both riches, and honour” 1K 3

Rejoice in substance, let it be precious to you, because it is a gift given in love from someone you love – and only for that reason. That is the only reason anything is good.

If you put the cart before the horse, and love wealth above or rather than the Giver, this is to “worship and serve the creation rather than the Creator”, and thus is covetousness idolatry:

“covetousness, which is idolatry” Col 3

If instead of loving wealth more than God we love God more than wealth – but do not love wealth at all, this is ingratitude, and says nothing good about our love for God. It is not enough to simply Love wealth less than we love God – we must love wealth not at all, except as a gift from God – and our love of wealth for that reason, because it is a gift, reflects directly on our love for the Giver.

If we love wealth even the smallest amount as something separate from God, then it is that much greed and idolatry. “You cannot serve God and mammon”. If we love good things as from God, as part of our love for God, any lack we have in this love is that much ingratitude and indifference towards God, a lack in our love for him.

“Thou shalt rejoice in every good thing which Yahweh thy God hath given unto thee, and unto thine house” Deu 26

#SabbathPosts 2023/12/02

DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/11/30

(This story so far resides here: //ofourmaker.com/2023/10/17/adolphus-search-and-rescue )

(The conclusion.)

Enid’s mother was quite interesting as a human. Though a small gluckast, she grew in the transition much beyond what came only from straightening, so that she was all but startlingly tall. She also appeared athletic, and not in a lean way like Gareth. Gibbsen was curious whether she was as powerful as she looked. She had named herself “Ardyth”.

She was sitting, as was her habit, on a bench in the receiving bay named “Errol” (the same where her daughter became a bride), to watch when a transport vehicle was bringing in sick gluckasts. There was blood and claw marks on the sides of the vehicle, and shreds of flesh on its horns. Though it had been a near thing, all were uninjured, and so it was a glad time. The gluckasts had been greatly reduced, though Adolphus Search and Rescue was kept in more labour than ever – the infection had broken free, and it was now a constant race to find all the infected.

Gareth was also watching (he had not been on this run), rocking his baby girl in his arms. Gibbsen considered rocking silly; babies were extravagant things, but he liked them anyway. This one was named “Angharad”.

Enid came at a trot, having fetched something.

“I wanted to show you this, Mother. Dr. Kilver kept Father’s claw, he preserved it.”

She proffered the gruesome artifact, which her mother handled with interest.

“Are you sorry,” Enid asked, “that my lover killed Father?”

“Oh, no,” her mother replied, then cocked her head. “Though I do wonder what sort of person he would have made.”

Ardyth spoke without a trace of the gluckast accent – it was eerie when they had learned that this was because as a gluckast she would mimic human speech to lure people to their deaths.

“Speaking of sorts,” she went on, “I also wonder how your daughter has not a trace of your husband’s complexion.” She gestured with the claw to the baby’s rosy skin.

Enid sat down and leaned on her mother’s brawny arm.

“My husband was not grey the time he was birthed. It is argyria.” (she was careful to pronounce the word correctly.) “It was a… I did not understand yet. He used it to fight demons in another country.” She tried unsuccessfully to catch her mother’s eye. “Mother, do you believe you will take a husband again?”

“No, unless I can persuade that Mundbern fellow,” Ardyth said with a funny half-smile.

Little Angharad began to groan; Gareth touched his fingertip to her lips, and she responded by giving it a suck. Her desires thus made clear, Gareth delivered her to Enid’s bosom, and sitting down he put his arms around Enid’s shoulders to conceal the motherly feeding process under the broad sleeves of his dark robe.

They heard a banshee scream, and soon saw their friends in another great vehicle heading out of the bay into the dark. The noise of the departing rescuers dwindled, until the only sound was the baby’s suckling noises. After a while, Gibbsen found himself genuinely curious about what a human’s milk tasted like.


This concludes Gibbsen’s anecdote of the end of the gluckasts and certain doings of Adolphus Search and Rescue.

#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM #AdolphusSearchAndRescue 2023/11/30