Drew John Ladd's "Wolfsong Beloved" is now in print

 Wolfsong Beloved by Drew John Ladd

Mystery surrounds the protagonists full bore . . . but we don’t meet them right away, and we happen upon them all of a sudden.

There is no comforting presence of an invisible narrator here – providing descriptors, pointing to signposts about that which we see. Here - we are in a story that calls for us to do the sleuthing ourselves. I like that.

How we process our exposure to beings and witness to situations that come before meeting the three who take us through the rest of this tale – shall help or hinder our ability to understand that to which we have been exposed and to whatever else may follow.

We happen upon this trio - an ancient fighter on a dangerous mission, a powerful caged child whose life memories eludes him, and a forthright talking sentinel wolf – and see they are enmeshed in pursuit of answers - names - and some great resolution. And we, are so enjoined to learn the answers with them.

My first reads of this tale were online. I’ve been following the paths taken in Drew John Ladd’s Wolfsong Beloved via Facebook and Patreon posts [patreon.com/drewwritesstuff ] as well as in podcasts and interviews in which he spoke about this saga.

As with many mysteries – returning to the clues can be useful . . . and most everything has clues within what we’ve observed. We find magic, grim parables, creatures and beings not generally known to us, and circumstances that trouble or astound on the path these three travel – and which we watch.

And much was found, and learnt; so much so that I hope this calls for more to come in the future . . . be they prequel, sequel, concurrent narrative, or some new form of chapter timelines . . . that I’m already looking forward to reading for I still remain wrapt and intrigued.

But back to reading . . . while reading online, or hearing excerpts kept me returning for more, that I might pore over and peruse jumping about the tale with abandon . . . something that can be vital when trying to make sense of the world put forth to learn about.

. . something that can be returned back to as often as needed to render the parable(s) segments to be in some tangible form, something that can be only really be done with an actual book.

The book is exists here now. I’ve already put in orders for several copies to share.

Here's a link to the lulu.com sales page: https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/drew-ladd/wolfsong-beloved/paperback/product-4dqyy5.html?

Collage: Waiting for Godot

Yes, Nathan Lane and John Goodman are part of this collage

 

Waiting for Godot
collage - 6" x 6" / 15 x 15 cm
in private collection
(c) 2021 Will Brady

entries into an annual Peace Calendar competition conducted by Syracuse Cultural Workers for 2022

Sense of Dignity - watercolor 11x14 in / 27x35 cm

Stop Coercive Treatments - watercolor and ink - 11x14 in / 27x35 cm

Credo - watercolor and ink - 11x14 in / 27x35 cm

 

Original Photo Art - Various images - for sale

Bring Beauty into your home - inexpensively

Original Photo art for sale - $35 - per picture - OTHER IMAGES AVAILABLE

dry mount on archival mat board (11"x14" / 28 x 35 cm).

$40 if shipped to you within USA

Message me first - Can take VENMO @Will-Brady-5

Lighting Showroom Display

Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris

Don Gummer's "Primary Separation" sculpture in North Adams, Mass.

Solitary Chair: Musée des Beaux Arts, Montréal

Other Voices: Drew John Ladd - diarist, passionate voice against Racism, and spinner of sci-fi, horror and fantasy tales

There are times when one is mocked - and mistreated - for being different; often cruelly. But sometimes, there comes vindication, in manners that can be overwhelming to comprehend, yet which can be described.

In "God Don't Need No Matches" Drew John Ladd lays out one such tale.

First published a few months ago on his Patreon pages, the tale is well worth renewed attention. - https://www.patreon.com/drewwritesstuff

Once on Patreon, much of his work is available for free (though by all means, subscribe because his writing is captivating and warrants the support; you can subscribe for as little as a dollar per month) but you can find more of his writing such as:

* excerpts from his upcoming Novel "Wolfsong Beloved",

* a new look at Peter Pan - as the predator in the tale

* plus insightful essays on race, racism and the complex and difficult social circumstances in which we currently find ourselves.

for now: here's a tale of how mistreatment and abuse of someone disarmingly unique can end up horribly awry.

"God Don't Need No Matches" ©2020/Drew John Laddo

I remember the first time that I felt the fire, this bright red glowing thing inside me. It burned the roof of my mouth, my eyes, my hands.

I scorched my wristwatch to my arm.

In the quiet aftermath of a meditative cold shower, I peeled the melted watch from my wrist. My wrist was unharmed. I remembered.

The next time was Mr. VanDuke’s history class. Something about burning witches. Darcy Kellerman laughed and said some joke about me being next before screaming, clawing at her own face as her eyes popped like fried eggs. Her entire desk, it seems, had combusted. They say it was a good thing she was wearing natural fibers. They say, it would have been a horror otherwise.

Otherwise.

The last time I was mocked in the hall, I felt it rise in me like a light, this time with focus. I contained it. It was a success. They strutted past me, guffawing like lost mules, while I quietly celebrated the victory.

Over the next few months, I became adept at starting fires. Months later, I was able to quench them at will. I learned, of course, to spell my name on things, but used a new name, a name capable of housing this new found fire:

Tituba.

They called it vandalism; at first, anyway. There were cash rewards and suspects aplenty but no one they could lay hands on seemed to have any knowledge of the source.

Yet, I knew, it was only a matter of time before they got to me.

Like always, I played the game, went by their name, went by their rules, went along with their inquisition. I feigned fear, resentment, and, most of all, powerlessness. I gave them “disaffected demoralized queer” and they ate it up lip-smackingly.

The vandalism escalated to more elaborate “terrorist” acts; the grocery story burned completely to the ground in less time than it took the local fire department to respond. There was no direct evidence of the use of accelerant, but, in the aftermath, investigators intimated strongly that the blaze was deliberate; they just could not “reasonably account for the apparently complete and extraordinarily rapid simultaneous incineration of the building and all that was housed therein”.

I liked that.

Prom came and went, and I did neither. I had promised my grandmother that I would graduate, and I intended to do just that, so I had no plans on sulking my way out of graduation. But, it seemed, a new graduation was taking place of its own accord and with my encouragement. I decided to speak with her about it.

“I don’t know anything about any of that you’re talking about. But I DO know that there are gifts; gifts that are given, gifts for which we are responsible for being good stewards, until it is time to return that gift.”

I thanked her, and she hugged me like usual, only I thought her hands felt… warmer than usual.

“You have many gifts,” she said, still holding me in her arms. “Go and be a good steward”.

I had been “churched” so hard as a child, I knew exactly what she meant by “good steward”. And, I had been “churched” hard enough to WANT to BE that good steward.

But I remembered another song. Something about “God don’t need no matches…”

I thought about saying it, about whispering it like a prophecy into her ear, a thing I knew she would feel just as I did. But, in her warmth, I withheld it from her. “She has carried more than her share,” I reasoned.

The last time was after graduation.

We had walked the stage earlier that afternoon, my family smiling, hollering, snapping photos with their phones. That night, I sat alone in my room and thought of what to wear.

In the woods, I could hear them far off, even with the twigs and branches snapping beneath my feet. I walked closer and heard them laughing, the crack of their fire, closer still and I could recognize voices.

I thought of the people connected to those voices, how they had shaped me, how they had “arranged” me, how they had dug into me against my will. I thought of the scars I carried and felt myself grow warmer.

Before any of them could see me, I had taken account of who they all were. It broke my heart that none of them were exempt. None of them (not here, anyway) had ever seen, much less respected people like me.

Tyler Jepsen, hand in my pants, freshman year - “horseplay”

Sendica Ire, “What ARE you?”, freshman year - “misunderstanding”

Tony Mendez, “Let us see ‘it’!”, junior year - “jokes”

Hannah Glass, “Its not fair to us who are just ‘like that’ naturally.”

There were so many others. Too many. Tears stung my eyes and burned away on my face, leaving salt stains and bloodied eyes.

By the time I was in view, my fire was brighter than theirs. I incinerated them all, one by one, savoring their cries for help. I learned after the first one that I had done it far too quickly. I practiced, though. And there were so many to practice on.

Hannah was last, fruitlessly trying to shove a car key into an ignition that I had melted shut. When she saw me, she stopped.

I waited.

She waited.

The woods around us burned, hot smoke rose, black and grey plumes, us in a hell of my making.

Our making.

She got out of the car and faced me. She looked ready.

“I know I don’t deserve your mercy. We put you through hell - there’s no forgiving that. There’s no apology for that. I know. I just wanted y-”

And that’s as far as she got. Sure, there was a scream as she clawed at her mouth, melted shut, her teeth, fused together. I turned her tongue to ash and watched her choke, black tendrils of ash and mucus hanging from her nose like idiot mascara.

Her hair went up instantly - she almost didn’t feel it. And when I took her eyes, I took my time. I wanted the last thing she saw and felt as her cataracts melted into nothing was the force of my fire.

Some of the others had worn their prom dresses as a sort of last chance to get to wear something opulent before being turned out like paupers to the college of their parents' choosing. No doubt, they also relished in the irony of wearing evening wear to the woods for a beer and pot party.

What they did not count on, was Tituba.

Very nearly to her credit, Hannah had worn all natural fibers - while the others smoldered, gurgling pleas for help from half-hardened plastic shells that once were jackets and skirts and showoff wear, Hannah stood alone. Tall. Bright.

Burning like a candle.

-

D. John Ladd

Pen + Ink: Hot Dog Man

Pen + Ink (c) 1982, 2020 / Will Brady

will.brady @ gmail.com

P O Box 346, East Haddam, CT 06423

https://willbradyvisualarts.blogspot.com/

Logo Design: Moodus Sportsmen's Club Signage

 

Logo / Signage design for local hunting club.

Acrylic Latex paint on wood panel

(c) 2006, 2020 / Will Brady

will.brady @ gmail.com

P O Box 346, East Haddam, CT 06423

https://willbradyvisualarts.blogspot.com/

Watercolor: Look toward Key West

 

Watercolor

(c) 2020 / Will Brady

will.brady @ gmail.com

P O Box 346, East Haddam, CT 06423

https://willbradyvisualarts.blogspot.com/

Carving: Deer at Night

 

Digital Collages: "Economic Justice" and "Wage Slavery"

 We need to talk about economic injustice since the power it wrests upon society can rip it apart.

Painting: Avian Magic

Avian Magic

8" x 24" / 20 x 60 cm

acrylic on canvas

will.brady @ gmail.com

P O Box 346, East Haddam, CT 06423

Collage / Combine: "Atonement"

 "Atonement"

Objet Trouvé / Combine - 20" (w) x 54" (h) x 4" (d)

will.brady @ gmail.com / P O Box 346, East Haddam, CT 06423

https://willbradyvisualarts.blogspot.com/

FOR SALE [+Shipping (US Canada only)] - SQUARE Card Processing card available

Other Voices: Harmonia Rosales on "Why I paint what I paint"

 

The warrior God of metal work, Ogun, originates from the Yoruba religion in Africa. Ogun can build or destroy. A conundrum he often faces. With such raw energy behind a cause, both destruction and building go hand-in-hand to create a society/change we need and have a right to.____________________________________________________from 19 June 2020, on Ms. Rosales's blog : https://www.harmoniarosales.com/post/why-i-paint-what-i-paint . Illustration (c) 2020 by Ms. Rosales is shown here as permitted by "Fair Use" provisions of U S Copyright laws.

QUOTE:

"I see life as a painting, rich and complex in its colorful layers. We are our own artists. However, the foundation for which we create our life is vastly flawed. If the paintings foundation is not properly sealed, the painting deteriorates, becomes weak, and will consistently have to be patch-worked. In this instance our foundation is America:

"The United States is a contradiction. Its founding principles embrace the ideals of freedom and equality, but it is a nation built on the systematic exclusion and suppression of communities of color. From the start, so many of this country’s laws and public policies, which should serve as the scaffolding that guides progress, were instead designed explicitly to prevent people of color from fully participating. Moreover, these legal constructs are not some relic of antebellum or Jim Crow past but rather remain part of the fabric of American policymaking."-Danyelle Solomon,Connor Maxwell, and Abril Castro

". . . We see that we are still not truly liberated. The anger we have expressed these past few weeks [June 2020] is completely justified. I am all for it because we have never been heard as much as we are currently. But what happens when the dust settles? Are we prepared to look in the mirror? To truly heal ourselves before we rebuild our future?

"When I committed my career to artivism, I vowed to always include my culture and identity in my work, specifically the part of me that is the least represented in society. I utilize social ecology to highlight uncomfortable questions we should all be asking ourselves in order to see the bigger picture." ________________________________________________________________

Typography: We Live in a Spiritual Dark Age

 

Essay: Making Social Change

 

 Affecting Social Change is much more than mouthing slogans or sound bites. 

It can mean devoting hours - days - years - spending time with those who are reluctant and unwilling to hear the truths of others or to work at changing existing social policy or considering other ways of living.

Yet making the fundamental changes in the values that underlie oppressive social policies require interacting with those who oppose us.

This must be done before we get to the voting booth, before we get to legislative committee hearings or public forums.

We need to get our points across and to affect change in board rooms and private offices; in juvenile and adult corrections, mental health, the courts, in educational, cultural, legislative and personal spheres ~ where ever decisions affecting all our lives are made regularly and daily ~ and we need to do this now!

We must infiltrate the meeting places of adversaries and decision makers who oppose eliminating wrongs.

We must insist upon and make impact by directly negotiating policy change, laws and directions for the future. Once there, being heard, we have to make our points clearly enough to be effective advocates for change.

Now, affecting change doesn't necessarily make for chit chat or small talk at parties. You won't be making friends with those you meet and confront at policy planning or while negotiating change, nor will your own friends necessarily want to know about the details of your efforts.

Even if we cannot immediately make changes to oppressive social policies or practices, our mere presence in some of these meeting places can prevent additional harmful policies from being implemented. Also ~ remember to stay in touch with others who know what you say to be true, and to refresh and replenish yourself from behind-the-scenes battles rather than burn yourself out. Stay healthy to battle successfully.

Assemblage / Combine: "Lug"

 

Collage Commentary: Epitaph for Etats Unis?

 

Made during G H W Bush's incursion into Kuwait and Iraq

Digital Collage: An ongoing series of works

Unrepealableness Jussanjuan

Rough Sanctuary

Bees Harvesting brown arrows

Obsidian

 

Other Voices: Alex Gray / Transcendent spiritualism

 Alex Grey: born Columbus, Ohio / November 29, 1953 

https://www.alexgrey.com/bio

“It is the light that is sublime in Grey’s oeuvre - which is the most important innovation in religious light since the Baroque - and that makes the mundane beings in them seem sublime, in every realistic detail of their exquisite being”. 

Praying: 1984 48 x 36 in oil on linen

An American visionary artist, author, teacher, and Vajrayana practitioner. He works in multiple forms including performance art, process art, installation art, sculpture, visionary art, and painting.

His father was a graphic designer and encouraged his son’s drawing ability. Themes of death and transcendence weave throughout his artworks, from the earliest drawings to later performances, paintings and sculpture. 

Training:     

• Columbus College of Art and Design 1971 - 73; 
• Painted billboards for Columbus Outdoor Advertising 1973 - 74; 
• Studio Assistant for Jay Jaroslav, Boston Museum of Fine Arts 1974 - 75; 
• Anatomy Department, Harvard - Dept of Mind/Body Medicine preparing cadavers for dissection 1975 +; which prepared him for a medical illustrator

Grey's paintings are a blend of sacred, visionary art and postmodern art. He is best known for his paintings of glowing anatomical human bodies, images that “x-ray” the multiple layers of reality. His art is a complex integration of body, mind, and spirit. 

Many of his paintings include detailed representations of the skeleton, nervous system, cardiovascular system, and lymphatic system. Grey applies this multidimensional perspective to paint the universal human experience. His figures are shown in positions such as praying, meditating, kissing, copulating, pregnancy, birth, and death.

Grey's work incorporates many religious symbols, including auras, chakras, and icons with geometric shapes and tessellations in natural, industrial, and multicultural situations. Grey's paintings are permeated with an intense and subtle light. 

His highly detailed paintings are spiritual and scientific in equal measure, revealing his psychedelic, spiritual and super-natural view of the human species.

You can see the works of Alex Grey on permanent exhibit at the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors [CoSM] - 

". . . a sanctuary for seeing ourselves, the world, and our cosmos as reflections of the Divine. CoSM's mission is to build a temple to preserve and share a collection of visionary art beloved by a global community. Forty acres of beautiful woods and newly renovated buildings invite the contemplation of art and nature, and provide a center for events encouraging the creative spirit. 

"CoSM honors the mystic core of love uniting all wisdom traditions and the transformative power of art to awaken human potential."

CoSM is located at 456 Deer Hill Road, Wappinger, NY 12590 USA : Phone 845.297.2323