Monday, October 02, 2006


Men should write because they have truly lived, not write as a substitute for living.

"I wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of the strenuous life."

Theodore Roosevelt

The Grapharium reflects not just what I write, but what I have done, which in the end is always the far more important art.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Writing Portfolio


Writing Abilities; Non-Fiction, Fiction, Newsletters, Articles, White Papers, Analyses, Essays, Editorials.

Other Skills: Design and Composition, Musical Composition, Inventions, Application and Software Skills, Brokerage and Contacts Networking

Synoptic Description: Writing is not a skill developed within the mind, but is developed by exposure to the world. Experience is developed through interaction with a wide range of activities and occupations. That experience translates to an understanding of the world, and the capability of action necessary to accomplish valuable and necessary objectives in the world.

A writer is far more than his thoughts and his imagination; he is the collection of his experiences, his detailed observations, his innovation, his insight gained from years of varied pursuits. These pursuits have given me a deep base of materials, ideas, experiences, and subject matter by which to develop well-crafted and knowledgeable articles of non-fiction as well as realistic and believable fiction.

If you desire to employ a writer who will not only develop and design the proper written materials for your needs, but is also capable of drawing upon a reservoir of applicable personal experiences and excellent research in order to address your needs in the most direct and efficient manner possible, then I am your man.

Portfolio Title: Grapharium

Name: Jack

Telephone Number: Available Upon Request

Cell Phone Number: Available Upon Request

Fax: Available Upon Request


(Some sites currently under construction due to conversion to Beta or Wiki Formats.)

Disciplines: Business, Psychology, General Science, Religion, Crime and Criminal Affairs (Case-work, Criminology, and Criminalistics) Military and Intelligence Affairs, Politics.

Experience: I have over 25 years experience as a writer, having produced articles, papers, essays, white papers, reports, and other writings since I was a reporter and editor for my school newspaper. I have also been writing fictional stories for over 20 years. I have worked as both a Freelance Writer and Correspondent.

Specialties: Articles and Reports. Non-fiction of all kinds. Editing. Research and Investigations. Interviews. Fiction.

Compensation: Rate depends upon the assignment.

Clients: (partial list of previous clients and employers) Sunbelt, Gregory’s Clinical Care, Hillside Baptist Church, New Hope Mortgage, Smith and Wilson, Barton Security, OPIC, Saint Paul’s Catholic Church, Mentor, Generations, Czech Consulting Group, Roadhouse, SCORE, Bednar and Co. Real Estate

Publications: Newspapers, Trade Magazines, Popular Magazines, Private and Special Reports, Marketing Publications, Fiction Publications and Online Material.

Special Skills: Various Applications and Software Programs including Office and Writing Suites, Editing Programs, Website, Newsletter and Blog Creation Programs, Graphic Programs, Musical Composition Programs, Presentation Programs, Mapping, Scientific, Business and Publication Programs. Some familiarity with basic programming.

Familiarity with and access to personal office equipment including; fax machines, scanners, copiers, desktop computers, laptop computers, printers, digital cameras (still), video cameras, tape and digital recorders, dictation machines and software.

Additional Services: Research, Journalistic Articles, Editing, Blog and Website Creation as well as Graphic Design, Photography and Film Work. Contacts, Research and Business Networking.

Awards: Various Writing and Guild Awards and Competition Prizes for Non-Fiction, Fiction, and Poetry.


“Jack is the best researcher I have ever met.”

Bear Smith, Smith and Wilson

“Jack did a comprehensive article on the history of our church. I highly recommend his work. He gives great attention to detail.”

Pastor Howard, Hillside Church

“Jack is an excellent interviewer and Freelance writer.”

New Hope

WORK SAMPLES AND CLIPS: Representatives Samples and Clips of my work are available upon this website as well as on my other various websites and blogs. Other samples are available upon request. All works are copyrighted, registered or trademarked JWG, Jr., 1985-2006, unless protected under one of my business entities.

CONTACT: I may be contacted by email, telephone, through one of my blogs or websites, or by letter for assignment or additional information.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Biographical Information

This section is designed to provide a short biographical and informative business sketch that clients can use to gain more information about my freelance work capabilities.

Education: I attended three Colleges and one University during my formal academic career. I read in and studied during my academic career the following subjects: Psychology and Education, Archaeology, Physics, and Religion and Philosophy.

Employment: I have had a number of employments in a diverse range of industries and fields, including: Security, Education, Transportation, Psychology, Investigations, Marketing, and Medicine. I have in the past owned a Brokerage Business and currently own a Consulting Business as well as a Freelance Writing Business.

Capabilities: My Writing Capabilities include, but are not limited to –

Non-Fictional Articles, Piece Work
Reports and Analyses
Essays, White Papers, Theory Papers, Academic Papers
Fictional Works
Editing and Copywriting
Website Content Construction and Development
Blogsite Construction and Development as well as Blogsite Article Writing
Humor and Entertainment Articles
Satirical Works
Dramatic and Comedic Works and Scripts for various Media
Artistic, Design and Graphic Work including Logo Design
Business and Marketing Materials
Political Writings on Local, Regional, National and International Affairs

In addition to these capabilities I also have access to two personal offices and to various office and business equipment that increases the speed and efficiency of my work. This equipment includes; 2 personal desktop computers, 1 laptop computer, 3 printers, fax machine/copier, answering machines, numerous tape recorders, binoculars, microphones, telephones, cell phone, digital camera (still), 35 millimeter film cameras, video camera, dictation software, and various other items.

Special Skills: Various Applications and Software Programs including Office and Writing Suites, Editing Programs, Website, Newsletter and Blog Creation Programs, Graphic Programs, Musical Composition Programs, Presentation Programs, Mapping, Scientific, Business and Publication Programs. Some familiarity with basic programming.

Additional Services: General Research, Article Writing, Editing, Blog and Website Creation as well as Graphic Design, Photography and Film Work. Contacts. Business and Marketing Research. Evaluations, and Assessments. Consulting. I own and am proficient in the use of digital cameras, video cameras, tape recorders, and most surveillance equipment.

Personal Interests: I have a wide variety of personal interests and hobbies, including subjects I research, study and read-in regularly.

Science: Physics, Space Exploration, Genetics, Biology and Biochemistry, Chemistry, Medicine and Technology.

Business: Consulting, Brokerage, Networking, Start-Ups, Capital, Investment, Technology, and Research and Development.

Art: Writing, Graphic Art, Painting, Sketch work, Icons, Design and Architecture, Photography and Film.

Religion: Christianity, Christology, Theology, Comparative Religion, Morality, and Ethics.

My other personal interests include: Economics, Psychology, Law Enforcement, International Crime, Criminal Investigations, Military and Intelligence Affairs, Biography, and Politics.

I also assist on occasion with Disaster Relief, with Christian Relief and Mission Projects, and with various charities. I am active in my church and am a Christian. I write and compose music, including Art (classical), Jazz, Rock, Bluegrass, and Sacred Music and I also write song lyrics. I write three newsletters, redacted and excised versions of which appear on-line. I also write a personal blog, The Missal, and am founder of a Renaissance Project Blog, the Omniworks Generare.

Hobbies: My hobbies include Hiking, Camping, Photography, Cycling, Working Out, Throwing Discus, Gaming, Film, Reading, and Writing.


Online Portfolios:

Website(s) (urls):

Online Newsletters:


Saturday, September 02, 2006

Work Samples and Clips



Sample 1

"Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth..."

"I am seeking a man."


After studying current population trends I realize that there are a couple of remarks I want to make concerning these matters. Points that I almost never hear anyone make in respect to these issues, but very important points to consider.

First of all let me preface my remarks by saying that I do not agree with chronic, irresponsible population growth just because it can be achieved, either due to natural processes, genetic improvements, or by technological advantage. And mathematically there will of course be a point in time, and a demographic point at which all reasonable advantage has been delivered by population increase. At such a point I think that the objective should be a voluntary slowing of growth to achieve a more homeostatic demographic outcome. But that point may be a very long way away, dependent on how we use and discover resources in the future, or that point may become impossible to determine because of other factors. Man should just play it by ear on that point.

But let me discuss several points which are never discussed regarding population and the inherent dangers purportedly proclaimed by "naturalists", forgetting that Man is both the supreme example of natural power on this planet, and the destined master of nature, by design.
First, my father made a remark to me years ago which at the time I did not realize the full import of, but I'm beginning to understand as I age. He asked me why you never heard about a genius like Albert Einstein anymore? I said I thought it was because they are so rare in history, only one such person being produced between every 100 and 500 years. "No," he corrected me, "it's because there are so many of them now-a-days, no one in particular really stands out." Over time I have come to realize that he is absolutely right. Of course mankind has never, even for a single minute been without some genius, some visionary, some paragon of brilliance, talent and catholic scope. But on the other hand, every so often, and ever so rarely, there comes to the fore a Da Vinci, a Shakespeare, an Einstein, an Archimedes, a Saint Francis. Or that is the way it has been for most of human history. But not anymore. Today we are awash in men like Gates, in scientific and technical brilliance of every kind, of geniuses of wisdom, of writers, of visionaries, prophets, futurists, inventors, etc., just as we are awash in a plethora of physically beautiful people (present company excluded of course). Why?

Sample 2

A fascinating and morbid man ...

No doubt about it and I've either seen or studied some of the most gruesome killers in modern times.

19th century medicine, with all the grave robbing, body stripping, dissection, and so forth is also an incredible study.

There was sort of, and this is hard to describe accurately, a clinical dispatch and clinical dispassion to murder, dissection and so forth in the 19th century that is beyond
most modern murderers. Scientific murdering you might call it for lack of a better

We people, in our age and used to the very emotionally charged, fantasy driven, passion laced, personal vendetta and perversion filled serial killers of the 20th and 21st centuries really find it hard to imagine the kind of scientific and clinical dispassion with which 19th century aristocratic killers operated. (Though serial killing as we know it is beginning to drop off and I suspect that is because as our society changes, we are going to give birth to a new kind of criminal. The serial killer had his day and the 20th century was perfectly suited to him in structure, philosophy, and nature, but as our nature changes due to the war we see only the lull before the storm. The day of the Super or Hypercriminal: a mix of many criminal tendencies plus guerilla and terrorist tendencies is not far off. Perhaps a generation or so. Damn that I may be too old in some respects to meet them when they come.)

In a way men like Osama bin Laden are throwbacks to the clinical, scientific, intellectual murdering of bygone eras.

For instance people nowadays can instantly understand the villainy of men like Zarqawi and we have visceral and understandable reactions to such men and their tactics because like us as a society he is very emotionally driven and manipulated.

He is a serial killer similar to us in psychological outlook but alien in morality. So although we are repulsed by his behavior we can understand his tactics because they are targeted at people’s emotions.

Bin Laden is more like our enlightenment ancestors; clinical, scientific, patient, not immediate experience driven but rather analytical of experience, not sensual in perceiving the world but intellectual and detached. This is why I think so many people in our modern society and why so many people in places like Europe are unable at all to really grasp the clinical, scientific mass murdering methods of a man like bin Laden. They cannot really imagine bin Laden, as if he were a man from a different era, and he is. He is a Holmes, a Frankenstein. Zarqawi is a Gacy, a Bundy, a Dahmer. A trickster and thespian in murder. Bin Laden is a scientist of death. We are used to demons, who like ourselves are chaotic, personally involved in their crimes and feel at stake in the world. But bin Laden is different, he is devil, and devils have no interest in Chaos.

They dream of being God.

Bin Laden is a Frankenstein and our modern, insular, self-involved, consumed with emotion (to an almost primitive level) societies (especially the older and more decadent societies who have recently reveled in uncontrollable emotion driven bloodlust, like Germany did in WWII) simply cannot grasp the fundamental alieness of a scientific mass murderer like bin Laden. (This is one reason why the Germans fell hook, line and sinker for guys like Hitler, naive as schoolgirls with a crush on the local brute, they could not really imagine just where he intended to go or what he really was. Or perhaps like some who are far too intellectual and sophisticated, they simply wanted a brute to beat the hell out of them and enforce some kind of order and outward direction upon their pathetic self consumed little over cultured lives. Or perhaps it was both. Doesn't really matter, they got what they dreamed of.) I've talked to several people about this and the more urbane and sophisticated (or the more urbane and sophisticated they imagine themselves to be) the person the less likely they are to be able to connect bin Laden and his aims to his actual actions. They cannot imagine the Frankenstein model of the man who sits by patiently, year after year, experimenting with death, plotting, calculating, dissecting, until that great day when, "Eureka!! It lives!!" Or in this case, "It Kills."


Sample 1

In recent years Hillside has seen a continuous and steady increase in membership. This increase in membership has come both from the local surrounding population and from congregants who live outside the immediate and traditional geographic area surrounding the church. The church often sees members who travel some distance each time they visit the church, often bypassing closer facilities, which is an unusual situation for the membership of a small country church. However, Hillside has also endeavored to appeal to new members who might not fit the traditional profile of congregants to a rural community church.

Many of the congregants and members of Hillside Church take a direct and active involvement in the programs and activities of the church, which may account for both the continued growth in membership and the attraction to those who might not typically attend such a church. Hillside has a large variety of programs, mission projects, youth ministries, Christian education classes, cooperative and community programs, and various other activities which allow every member of the church, should they so desire, to be involved in some type of Christian outreach, charity, or work. In addition to supporting local missions and ministries Hillside is also active and involved in missions and ministries in the larger community, such as state programs, national Christian work, and has even recently become directly involved in international missions.

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See these Newsletter Blogs:

Dante’s Ninth (personal):

Opus Magnus (literary):

The Difference Engine (business):


See these Blogs:

The Missal (personal):

Omniworks (project):

B Reader (professional):


See these Websites:

Center and Circumference:

Endeavor and Enterprise:


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I'm now going to give you a shortened version of what I think really happened in the murder scenario in which Cain slaughtered his brother Abel, based upon the Hebrew. Take it for what it is worth. It is one possibility, but much closer I suspect to the real events than the standard English translations. And much more fascinating and logical.

Eve gave birth to twins, the older Cain, and the younger, born in a continuation after Cain was delivered, being Abel. Cain was probably called Cain because of the screams of labor pains while Eve delivered, something she had been forewarned about. The association of the name of Cain with funeral wailing and with a spear or lance probably came later after the murder. He may have also become a famous weapon's smith after his exile.

As they grew Abel was known to be vain or perhaps he was vainly beautiful. He may also have been known for his shallowness and transitory nature. Strangely enough he also may have possessed a feminine nature because when described as a shepherd, the term actually used was the feminine form of richly fertile, to be fertile like a woman. He was a shepherd of flocks, but that term can mean either literally sheep or goats or it can mean figuratively, men. It also means to migrate, which may explain the transitory nature. Abel may have been a shepherd of animals, or he may have been a shepherd of men, known for moving about a lot and for his enormous beauty and/or vanity. Either way he seems to have been immensely fertile and influential even if shallow or unsatisfactory in some way.

Cain was, in English, a tiller of the ground. In actuality he was directly involved in the adamah, which implies both somehow manipulating the ruddy or bloody earth from which Adam had been constructed or was directly involved with Adam himself, and all that involved. He may have been bound to the adamah in some way or he may have been seeking power over it, or him, or them, seeking to enslave. He may also have developed or perverted some form of worship around these things.

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See this Website:

The Renaissance Academy:

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Three men into the valley came
The night was cold and shocked with rain
We hunted men who killed for sport
In foreign lands and foreign ports

The turn of every track we made
Like watered glass did quickly fade,
We came as hounds upon the wolves
A gift of death for careless fools

I still remember that night well
We crept upon a burning hell
While women screamed and children wept
We meant to kill, and promise kept

We silent split as shadows three
My brothers soon encircling me,
And made our inching way ahead
The crushing storm like dripping lead

I came upon a lingering guard
His labored breathing grinding hard
As black as jet, yet still more dark
An evil fire in his heart

I slid my knife into his neck
And sliced it open for effect,
His blood was warm upon my hands
Thank God this monster was no man

The ground did swallow up his stain
His future victims freed of shame
And so I moved upon the next
And stabbed him dead as dead he slept

My brothers too to their part went
Killed every demon in his tent,
Dispatched them as if drunken snakes
For dead they cannot mischief make

We gathered then those who survived
Of thirty souls but ten alive
Three tiny girls and two young boys
Five beaten women, small as toys

We marched them down the river road
And into boats we later rowed,
To make away from where we were
Before the slaughter could recur

And so we came to dryer camp
Yet two more died of wounds and cramps
The rest would live to tell the tale
But we three men had broken hell

And when you've broken hell apart
It always lingers in your heart,
You never rest within your mind
To think of those you left behind

I sometimes see them in my dreams
I sometimes catch a fading scream
If only I could multiply
The ones I had brought out alive

If only I had beaten time
Had caught the demons at the line,
Or tracked the bastards twice as fast
Had killed them first instead of last

Yet I may never know the swell
'Tween those we saved and those I failed
You cannot know what never was -
But wonder wanders in my blood

Three men into the valley came
The thunder crashed with pouring rain
While women screamed and children wept
And since that time I've never slept.

Sample 2

“Post equitem sedet atra Cura”

Upon the table where I lay the object of desire
I came upon an ancient thing, a thing I could admire

A telescope of ages past, a compass lost to read
An experiment alone by which forsaken I accede

A glass that mirrored back my soul
A branching from the bole,
A secret whispered back from God
That guile could not enroll,

Upon the table where I lay the object of desire
I came upon an arcane thing, a thing I could acquire

A ruler steep, an astrolabe
For shooting at the sun
A promise long that I did crave
No matter when begun

And machinations, they did turn
Where assemblies did adjourn
Along the casement of facade
For by this did I learn,

No man has ever grown so tall
He ever stooped the sky,
Then when he topples, what a fall
That cracks the globe nearby

Upon the table where I lay the object of desire
I came upon an obscure thing, a thing which did conspire

For reaching up upon the mast, as tall as masts will grow
I found what I was searching for, then lost it down below,

The moral of this versive tale, this song of last repent
Is that desire never sleeps, and never does relent

So if you come upon that thing which lingers in your heart
Be very careful what you take before you do depart…

For gaining we have caught it all, and grasping we will hold
Seceding we cannot let off, our end is thus foretold.

All Works © JWG, Jr. 1983-2006



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I like to Vad. And I love to hunt, but only men. That isn't the way it really started though, it began another way entirely. I'll never really say just how it first began, because I choose not to, and that is after all, for the best. Suffice it to say that I enjoy what I do, and I love what I do, and I am ceaselessly fascinated by it, and I hate it, and I want it to end, but not now. Not while I still live and can fight it. God help me, but the love of the thing is greater than the evil I know of the thing. If I could destroy it this moment I cannot say that I would. Unless it was my hands, and my hands alone, that choked it to death. If I personally could kill it then this might be pleasure enough to last me forever. I don't know. It is a possibility, something I entertain my soulwith when I hate myself, and what I find, enjoyable. Then what I find engulfs me again and I know I could never really kill it, because perhaps it is unkillable, or perhaps I am not the man. Or perhaps I have not the will while I still live.

I cannot really say how it began, but I can tell when and where. When I was young, still a teenager, younger than that actually, but why speak of that? Those days are dead. I was young, and I used to walk among the prostitutes on Washington Avenue and hear their stories, watch their walks, study their mannerisms. Informants, they informed me, and formed me from alien clay I did not even know existed. Ugly women, snitches, gasping for air, burnt out women, lips singed by cigarettes, teeth stained by unwashed and undigested food and worse, breath stinking of alcohol and worse, bodies beaten by heroin and speed and pimps and worse.

It began in the home I never really left, in the city I hated, and the city I protect, and the city I adore. In the place I will not live and in the place I cannot abandon, because one day she will be perfect again. It began in the greenest and most fertile place of all, as dark and stinkingand as dirty as any whore's mouth. Greenville. My Greenville.

One day I woke up. I saw her from a distance, vast it seemed to me, because I had moved away from her. Moved away and had forgotten her, forever I hoped. Forever. But then I found a secret place. A hole inside her by which I might crawl in again, unnoticed, unseen - to explore, to hunt, and worse. This hole, this place of darkness, led to other holes, and still other holes, until a maze of matters, wet and seeping spread before me invisibly, as I was invisible. She gaped with wounds, this fertile, bleeding city, and I fell in love with the hag who called to me on moonless nights. She painted death and rot with black graffiti. She kissed me with blood, and well before my time I was suddenly married, adrift, and lost...So it began.


Sample 1

“I will see you both dead!” Ilicia blurted out suddenly, not even recognizing her own voice. “For I am a witch of which neither one of you may even imagine.”

Osiomander heard the words spit out of the girl’s mouth as if whistling stones shot hot from a ballista. He felt a strange and uncanny sense of unease and imagined briefly, for a moment at least, this paralyzing dread must be the unreal sensation his victims feel as he rips and murders their fragile bodies. The girl’s words were an omen to him, not of a kind of witchcraft that he knew, but of an unearthly and eldritch witchcraft that he had seen only in his confused and furious visions of metamorphosis.

Escarn was similarly unnerved. He stopped rowing and for a period indescribable to him the boat continued through the water, gliding with only the slap of the cutting wake trailing into the night. He did not know why but he desired to flee, to stand up and race as if he stood on dry land, to abandon everything around him and run until his body and will both failed him. But he could not move. He was only able to turn his head slightly where he caught a glimpse of the wereman transformed instantly into an impossibly large creature, every hair on his ferocious body standing upright, as if the overlapping silence terrified the Silencer.

Ilicia too felt a kind of bizarre sensation pass along her spine, as if something ungodly moved along the length of her body, invisible and yet as real as the touch of a creeping corpse. She looked around her, desperation and dread swelling within when she noticed that the trees along the banks of the river appeared to move, to take on shadowy, fearsome shapes and to dance about like the ancient ancestors of dead gods. Ducks suddenly screamed as if mortally wounded and shot into the air, their strange calls sounding like ravens hovering over a living scarecrow that frightened them from their black nests. But it was the sight of the squirming fish which had suddenly schooled around the boat that nearly stopped her heart. They were huge, and they were crazily massive, pikes and gars with vicious and prehistoric looking fins, and snapping jaws of glowing teeth that opened and closed like metal traps meant to impale and crush huge bears. They swam in circles around the boat by the hundreds, never touching the craft but twisting it around and around in a vortex of uncanny fear. The eyes of each fish did beam yellow, like oily torchlight bleeding from distant caves, and a pattern of black grease seemed to bubble on the surface where they swam. Yet still they could be seen and still the boat turned in slow arcs which followed the orbit of their swim, rotating and fixed in the river as if held by an anchor, which twisted below. With an icy start Ilicia suddenly realized that these fish should not even be there, they were not native to these waters, or these shallow depths. Yet still they came, and still they swarmed.

It was only then that she also noticed a figure seemed to be moving towards them from one of the banks, which bank she knew not because having turned with the boat so often she was too disoriented to mark her bearings. But as the figure approached, and no matter from which direction, or how the boat turned, she could always easily see the approaching form. And she knew the man and the desperate werewolf could see it as well as she. Or could they?

She wanted to turn to look at both the man and the beast but she could not force her gaze to part from the ghostly menace which seemed to float above the water, coming on, slowly, relentlessly, horrifyingly. It seemed a ghost and yet it seemed something else as well, something not just from the world of the dead, but as if it were a form of Death personally embodied. She tired to recoil herself from the figure, her lips quivering in exhaustion and with inward shock, but she seemed transfixed and unable to move. Yet suddenly she found herself speaking again and as she spoke a creeping nausea overwhelmed her because she heard an unknown voice speak from two different points at once, from her own lips and from the figure floating over the Lurking River.

“Cursed for what you have done, no god, no man, nor demon will save you now.” The voice seemed like rusty metal chains groaning under a supernatural strain. A snap bit the air as if some immortal giant had with one titanic effort broken the very skeleton of some unknown god with his huge, gruesome hands.

And then her involition was gone, and she could move again. She looked out at the bank, almost too frightened to peer closely, but the trees were trees, and the blackness rising from the shores seemed wholly passed. She looked into the water but could see no fish. The boat seemed to be still turning, but in ever slowing circles and now seemed also to be lazily drifting downstream, without any real direction or purpose.

She looked at her abductors but Osiomander was utterly quiet, he lay in the boat as if dead, his form human once again and his hair suddenly as silver as if the moon had stained it so. She looked up into the eyes of the man, companion of the subdued beast, and yet alone unto himself, the same man who had apparently turned to face her once again with the final passing of the ghostly vision. He was completely silent but she thought she saw real horror in his face, and as if by magic she could suddenly read his one and only thought. “Witch!!”

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Today I go into work and get asked to impersonate somebody. Always finding other people more interesting than anyone else I take the dart they're pitching, then swing out wide of center. So right off the bat I know that yesterday has already passed tomorrow, as they say in the biz. Well, I psyche myself up because Russians sound funny when they talk. Now don't get me wrong, I've got quite a few friends south of Kamchatka, but I've never liked Eskimo pies. They make me gassy.

So, I get all painted up, dressed down, and put into costume, then go for a little stroll downtown into the local Red Square, when who should I run into but an old buddy of mine, also in the get up.

"Whatcha doing here man?"

"Oh, you know, the old shake, rattle, and roll."

"You get pop corn and fries with that?" Well, we both laugh at that one. It was pretty good for being on the spot, I gotta admit.

"Did you get rolled last week?"

"Nah," he says. "That's next week."

"How can you predict that?"

"Because the old man is a galactophagist." Now it's my time to guffaw.

"Who they painted you for this time?" Not sure I'm clear to talk I tell him Barney. He catches my drift and scratches his mudhole with his index finger. Which is better than the other way round.

"On the step now?" he asks.

"Yeah, my sweet is set and so I'm on spot." So with that he gives me one on the down low and then he makes like a bunny. Two times in a row.

Next thing I go for a walk. On the way I audition a couple on the fritz and it looks like the mouthy mouse is gonna slug the dame. That's a nuisance, what with me outta uniform, and instead made up like a Dimitri Colonel. It's always like that, you're not ready for the one thing and then the other happens. Still, no good deed goes unpunished so I amble over and take a poke at public relations. Well in the middle of a shout, with the gal all sobby, he suddenly sees me in the make and can't decide where I should be. Then after a few words he decides he can't make out where he should be either, and skeedaddles. I tell the Donna it will be okay and to scoot home and set a grease fire before the tadpole returns. She thanks me and I'm off again to sightsee. Soak up the town.

About ten of the clock I've had enough of that and since my daughter has her final acting class about 11:45 I call in and tell em to skip the intros, I'll go straight for the throat. Well, I drop two dimes on the patio and stroll on into the joint. Three of the big ones meet me, but being far more experienced than them I let my guard down anyway so as not to catch anybody off the floor. After one of em decides to wipe the walls to make a show, the other two skip me in to see the old man.

Now there he is fatter than life and ugly squared. Still, the smell is tolerable so I sit down with a flourish and make the secret handsign. To which he stands up and salutes like his mother is there. Okay, so formalities aside I ask him if he's prepared. It's a simple enough question but where he thinks it's going I have no idea because he's flumstrusstered by the whole talking in words bit.

I repeat my lines in dog barks and that does no good either because suddenly his mutt runs in and her legs are freshly shaved. What the hey-all? Yeah, that's what I thought too. So now that we're all on the same page again you can see why I'm gettin annoyed. Not in the playbook, one ball, two strikes, and somebody is gonna hav'ta call for sunshine before a washout. And me without my secretary.

Since this ain't going nowhere I decide to have a seat and let my previous sit down stand awhile. Now I'm impersonating both of em, which sounds a lot harder than it looks, especially with this crowd. Well he gets confused which is where I like to play when I'm the main talker. But I ain't saying nothing and so that's the part that's hard to figure, for both of us. As things stand and sit I decide to go poco a poco.

"Who you gonna call?" I pass the call sign. It's a play on words but since he still can't make out the game I let him catch a fly instead. Then he opens his mouth and it flies back out again. Getting tired of all this back and forth I settle on the sideways, which is always a good diagonal move. Well, a bit more of that with a little left over and I tap my watch to show him that time flies when you're having fun but all bad things must end by hook or by crook. Being crooked he gets my jive and smuggles something out of his number two monkey. I say, "How bout that," and tip him the high hat, but with just enough parfume that he thinks I mean it to smell that way.

So Ooday and Coosay hold my hands as we walk out, just in case I trip and something drops down that can embarrass us all. But that ain't really what aggravates me about the whole thing. What really bothers me is that as I'm dedressing it suddenly strikes me that one of my socks is black and one deep, navy blue. What if I had been accidentally disemboweled and then cut up for square? The boys in the morgue would have spotted the foot hose thing right away and then where would I have been? It's hard to explain that kinda thing and make it seem believable.


Sample 1

Come to taste my blood, my brother? No, I think you would rather destroy my home. Lay waste my lands. Jesus has a home in heaven, Jesus has a home on earth, and Jesus has a home in hell. But I have no place to lay my head.

Jesus: You are famished, and speak only out of hunger and fear. Taste my blood, and you will be well, and whole again.

Satan: (sardonically) No, take all I have if that be your intention, but I am as unworthy of your suffering, as you are of mine.

Jesus: And what of yours should I take?

Satan: I remain true. It is you who are the Wandering and the Prodigal Son.

Jesus: Come, follow Me. All must eventually forsake hell, even you.

Satan: What? Desert Hell? And who would hold the wayside, and mark the paths of the lost?

Jesus: Father, forgive him for he knows not what I do. (Satan flinches). It is said that "it is easier to reason against the madman, than against the fearless." I am fearless in my course now brother. Do you understand?

Satan: No, ... no, you are mad, and I am fearless.

Jesus: (sighs, then smiles) Will you then at least take my hand in parting?

Satan slowly takes the hand of Jesus.

Jesus: You tremble. Love of Fury, or Furious Love?

Satan: (Quickly, and too loudly) Would you have me remain unmoved? After all I have lost?

Jesus: (Gently, and quietly) No. Who remains unmoved in loss?

Satan: (more calmly now) Indeed. Will you loose me now, so that I may count my loss as lost again. I have business to attend.

Jesus lets go his hand.

Jesus: (whisperingly soft) Gather while you may.

Satan: It eases the loneliness.

Jesus: When next we meet...

Satan: I know, I know... but answer me this; What am I to you?

Jesus: The same as I, a Lamb in the guise of a Wolf.

Jesus laughs and then turns to leave. He stops at the ruined and disassembled gates, and then looks back at Satan. He sweeps his arms through the air, gesturing of Hell.

Jesus: All this I give to you. All this I have given up for you.

Satan bows formally, and stiffly.

Jesus: Now you too must give up this home of wind. Give all this to the Poor of Spirit, and come, follow me.

Satan: Relinquish my only wealth? You have stolen my Blessing, do you demand my Birthright as well? I am of the fields, a hunter. Do you descend upon a ladder from heaven to slay even the pressman of the vineyard? You have many homes, I have but one. The wind blows where it will, but only the invisible is left to me. Would you steal the crumbs even from the dogs?

Jesus: (thoughtfully) Yes, you have but one home. But not here. Not here. (long pause) Very well, then. Come when you can. I will burn a lamp to light the path. (Jesus exits)

Satan: (to the audience) Save the oil. I know the way. (Satan weeps. End of scene.)

Sample 2

This section is taken from one of my plays. This plays deals with the prophecy that a son of Zeus would lead to the overthrow of the King of the Gods. After being driven to murder his family by the gods, Herakles, a demi-god eventually becomes a god and marries the goddess Hebe. Secretly however, Herakles has become disenchanted with Olympus and has taken to spending some of his time wandering among men. He has also given birth to a son, the grandson of Zeus, but this child is unknown to the gods, and his mother remains a secret. When the child, named Kladsuproepo grows up, he begins a subversion against the gods in order to free man. He starts by taking up the cause of Prometheus who has been re-enslaved by Zeus. This is the final scene of the play, though it is unfinished at the moment. Kladsuproepo has finally made his way to Olympus to plead his case before the Furies and Nemesis against the Tyranny of Zeus. In attendance are gathered all the gods, Herakles, a secret party of supporters of Kladsuproepo, the Furies and Nemesis.

Klad: Are you not eternal, dark chthonian powers, preexistent to the gods? Do you serve the gods, or yet deeper, older forces?

Furies: (confused) (finally in reply) Though preexistent to the gods, we are the executors of their will. The word of Zeus is universal law to us.

Klad: Where then is Justice?

Nem: Here! I stand here!

Klad: And you - will you not call upon your servants (pointing at the Furies) to act in accordance with what is just in my suit against the Tyrant Zeus?

Nem: The Furies are not under my command.

Klad: Then are you free to act, or are you also under Olympian behest? Is justice the prerogative of the gods, or is justice the commander of laws too ancient to recount?

Nem: there are laws, customs more ancient than the gods, and knowing that, the gods have created me to exercise restraint upon derelict ambition, and preserve those patterns of conduct inherent and proper to all.

Klad: Yet what occurs when one becomes the violator of the other?

Nem: What can you mean? The gods know custom, they observe it.

Klad: (pointing, his fingers stabbing through the air at each god in turn) Not Zeus!! Not Ares! At one time or another all the gods have abused, or at the least neglected the most ancient codes. Where is their sentence? Who punishes them? Where are the Furies that hound their sins and drive them to shameful loss? When you spy such flagrant evil do you then act as nemesis to the heavenly offenders, or do you act as Nemesis unto yourself?

Nem: Time and Fate are the Furies who remit just retribution for the crimes of gods.

Klad: Not so!! For Zeus seeks to subvert both time and fate with the horrors of his latest crime - You! You are the ripe Time of my case. Ceaselessly judging the riddle of Fate. What read you in this riddle? What answer demands the charge of your duty? You must act here to save me if you judge me true. I have no other, need no other advocate and ally at this moment.

Zeus: Enough of this! Furies, tear this fiend apart!

Nem: (forcefully) Hold!! I will hear this plea. By what right can you make such a charge and seek to bind me in your course?

Klad: When the will of man is hard in error it is a perverse corruption, full of death. But when the will of man is good and strong in justice it negates the ordination of the gods with a divinity all its own. My will is clear in justice. You know my case, my grievances against Olympus. Now tell me merciful one, will you stand with me against my Father's Father?

Zeus: (interrupting) This is my judgment. This offender must be taken live to darkest Pluto where he must endure forever the folly of his sin. From this day forward he must drink the Lethe until he has consumed the entire of that eternal stream. Perhaps he then will be convinced to abandon memory of his unholy desire. Take him Furies to the netherworlds!!

Nem: Hold!! Though created by you Father, and though unsure of my direct relations to this boy, I am related thus by a bond of duty which outweighs even my love of divinity or the voice of your command. I must serve the truer and more immortal Will of the gods, and not their momentary intent. If the Furies seize this petitioner it will only be after they have grappled hard with their own Nemesis. It is true, the capricious crimes of the gods have too often reached my report, and too often have I brooded upon the meanings of such mortal acts, by immortals conceived. I will no longer leave Justice to mere powers Universal. This day I Am Justice, and I have weighed Zeus in the balance, and have found him measured beneath the mark.

The Furies seem momentarily confused, but then move swiftly forward towards Kladsuproepo. Nemesis steps forward to meet them and they all fall to violent battle. After a vicious struggle they all lay dead upon a bloodied ground.

Zeus stares in horror and then gathering fury at the carnage in his temple halls.

Zeus: You!! (pointing at Kladsuproepo) You caused this evil to befall the gods! Caused the ancient Furies and my most sublime son to wreck themselves in terrible combat.

Klad: The Justice which is powerless to act on behalf of Truth is stilled already. But what destruction is so powerful as to strike down truth in death? Nemesis stills breathes calmly in this Hall, though he be invisible to you, for now I am the arbiter of your fate!

Zeus: No man may decide the fate of great Zeus!

Klad: Unbind Prometheus! Free Man! Renounce your throne!


Sample 1

Sample 2


Sample 1

Sample 2


All Works © JWG, Jr. 1989-2006

Monday, August 07, 2006


Experiments - The Rediscovered Country

The Rediscovered Country: A Sermon for Palm Sunday and Good Friday


“…Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought...”

In God there is no Undiscovered Country. No Foreign Land. God has scouted, reconnoitered, explored, and infiltrated every realm. God is both our Map and our Territory.

Because of this we can fearlessly explore any land, infiltrate any terrain, sail any sea, climb or move any mountain, ford any river, sweep any valley, mount any heaven. No pass is impassible, no possibility impossible, no road is unnavigable, no obstacle is unbreachable. Even the hidden hearts of men lay bare before our searching explorations. God is our pathfinder so that we may be the pioneers of all other men, that we may lead them safely through this world, as He has led us.

“And they that went before, and they that followed, cried, saying, Hosanna: Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.”

In God all roads lead to the Truth. God is the great and paved road, the limes of liberty, the frontier of freedom, the outskirts of the outer limits of the edge of Time and Space. As such, and through such, and along such we travel the Way and the Truth and the Life towards a destination of a green and open land of plenty and beauty, which God has charted for us as a hallowed haven. In God all roads lead Home.

“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
Who will prepare your way before you.”

Every human expedition has moments of hardship, and every mortal road has untended stretches, which render the passage difficult, toilsome, and at times even dangerous. Death waits to waylay us upon our journey, certain that we must pay the toll of passage on the day we falter. The road of this world ends in the destination of death.

“Those who go to her never return, nor do they regain the paths of Life.”

But in God every stretch of road, every point along the path, smooth and straight, or wild, rough, and wearisome, is an equal Inn of Hospitality, a housing and home of Sanctuary, a shelter of surety when living cares do weight us down with the burdens of this world.

In this world all men are fellow travelers, subject to equal shares of encumbrance and distress. Our brotherhood is not then evidenced in what we in common suffer, but what we in common gain by shared provisions and perils, in mutual joy and happiness, in the ekklesia of our mutual edification when we turn aside from the fruitless path and pursue the straight road of eternal wealth and life.

“For the Kingdom of Heaven is as a man traveling into a far country, who called his servants and delivered unto them his property.”

God would have us lift up the lame along our way, free the slave who toils along the wayside, tend the sick, heal the crippled, nurse the wounded, and transform the cares and tares of abandoned worldly ways so that even long deserted desert routes may flourish like flowered highways of heavenly intent.

“Therefore lift up your heavy hands, and strengthen your groaning joints, and make straight the paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be crooked, but rather be made whole and healed.”

This world though is but the challenge of our mortal travel, not for us the ultimate destination. We should not confuse our momentary struggles along this earthly road nor the path we navigate in moving through it with our better fate in life. For all roads leading through this world are at best imperfectly engineered, but a shallow trench of the open ways we shall traverse when life in body has passed through the mortal gate and into the street divine. All better and more worthy roads in life begin in God, open wide with God, so that God may direct us to an unobstructed highway which leads well beyond the governance and restrictions of this world. Along the paths of God there is no limit to our inheritance, or the distance of travel we may enjoy. Along the paths of God all ways are sure, and infinite, and blessed.

“My steps have held firm to your paths: my feet do not slip.”

Along the highways of this world lies the Road to Perdition, footpath to the corruptible, the imperfect, and to decline, but the road which leads to God brings a Divine destination of discovery, truth, justice, goodness, and virtue. God is our road to the Rediscovered Country, and in that country we find our best Home.

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the world. Amen.”

Monday, July 17, 2006

Project News and Information

The following contains news and information about Current and near-Future Writing Projects in which I am engaged.