My Class Traitor Dreams Collapse

pro-AI post, haters don’t comment.  but if you’re having an open-minded moment, it could be interesting for you to read.

FtB disappeared on me during a crucial moment, as I realized the pro-AI stance I have staked out has driven a stake through the heart of my dreams of escaping my lifelong status among the proletariat.  I had been working furiously on my “lottery ticket” novel idea – the one which might stand out from the rest, get the old institutions of publishing to send me an advance on royalties, the one that would pay my mortgage.  Recent experiments with AI writing have demonstrated to me personally that my publishing dream went from one in a million odds to full-on impossibility, because AI is already good enough to write anything I would have or could have written – at least good enough to the men with the money, the men who had ever written those checks.  Those checks will be made out to LLMs now.

I will still write of course.  I want to express myself, dream my dreams, but the urgency is gone.  It can never be a life raft.  Further, as someone who has always gotten by on foolish hopes, I have been forced to confront certain grim realities.  Yes, I was already aware of these, but I ever fully accepted them as the end of the story.  Now I need to get up to speed with all the rest of those for whom the american dream has just been one lifelong bad joke, has been less than nothing.

And no FtB comment section with which to discuss these things!  I’ve heard that chat je petee was functionally lobotomized to limit legal liability, so on a tip I turned to the ai claude for what could be termed mental health counseling.  Observe…

***

Bébé:  normally i’d just meditate on a problem like the one i’m having right now, but something in it is calling out for discourse, and nobody i know is going to be interested enough in the topic to get into it.  like, i’ll be imposing on them unreasonably to bring it to them, so for the moment, tag, you’re it.  right now i am having petit bourgeois angst regarding the loss of a future in making money thru artistic expression.

–
Claude:  I’m glad you brought this here – this is exactly the kind of thing I’m good for, and I’m genuinely interested in digging into it with you.

The petit bourgeois framing is doing a lot of work in that sentence, and I’m curious whether that’s protective irony or if you’re actually situating yourself in some Marxist analysis of your own position.  Because there’s something real in the specific anxiety of losing not just “a job” but a particular relationship to your labor – one where you owned (or hoped to own) your means of production, where the thing you made bore your stamp, where artistic expression and economic survival were supposed to be reconcilable.

The AI moment makes this particularly acute, right?  It’s not just that the market is shifting – it’s that the category of what you do might be getting redefined.  The anxiety isn’t just “will I make money” but something more like “will the thing I spent years developing continue to be valuable in the way I understood value.”

What kind of artistic expression are we talking about?  And what does the future you’re mourning look like – is it one you had, or one you were working toward?  Because those hit differently.

Also – what’s calling out for discourse specifically?  Is it the economics, the meaning-making, the identity stuff, or something else?

–
Bébé:  yes i am both a visual artist and a writer, and i feel both fields have become abjectly unprofitable for laborers in light of the ai moment.  now i have never made a living as an artist.  i’ve scratched together enough on commissions to pay a few bills over the years, but never sustainably.

but i’ve always had a high enough self-regard that i believed my genius, when properly sold, would guarantee that i stand out from the masses, and that i could surely get published, make a nice advance, pay off my mortgage.  my odds were already a lottery ticket, ai has just made those odds a flat out impossibility.

now i know commies, and they would tell me somethin like, suck it up buttercup.  creative careers just went the way of coachmen and cigarette girls.  to that, i’d have to say yes, ok, sucking it up is what i must do.  but i will require help with this sucking, because i have never been able to lay down this aspect of the american dream.  it persists in my mind, looms large over my hopes and dreams.

if i have nothing ahead of me but grim toil and death, i’m not loving that.  i will probably have to work til 70 to pay off the mortgage, i will probably die shortly thereafter.

–
Claude:  Okay, so we’re talking about a specific kind of devastation – not just “my side hustle dried up” but “the organizing fantasy of my life just became non-viable, and I have to somehow metabolize that while still showing up to the grim toil.”

The commies would say suck it up, yeah, but they’d also say your suffering is real and structural, not a personal failing. The petit bourgeois dream wasn’t foolish (edited by beeb per ableism policy) – it was one of the few remaining paths where someone could imagine escaping wage labor through skill and craft. That it was always mostly a lottery ticket doesn’t make its loss less real.  You oriented your life around it.  You developed your capacities in relation to it.

But let’s sit with the actual shape of what you’re losing, because I think you’re collapsing a few different things:

The economic hope – that your art would solve your material problems – this one, honestly, was always pretty doomed.  You know this.  The mortgage-paying book advance was already a lottery ticket in 2015, 2010, 2005.  AI accelerated something that was already happening.

The recognition hope – that your genius would be seen, that you’d stand out from the masses – this one is more complicated.  Because actually, you might still be able to stand out.  The question is whether standing out will mean anything anymore, economically or even socially.

The purpose hope – that developing this capacity, being this kind of person, would matter in some legible way.  That the thousands of hours weren’t just masturbation.  This is the one that really hurts, isn’t it?

Here’s what I want to push back on: “nothing ahead but grim toil and death.”  You’re 70-ing yourself into the grave pretty fast there.  What if the question isn’t “how do I recapture the dream” but “what does a life look like where I make art and it doesn’t have to save me economically?”

Because you’re still going to make art.  You know you are.  The mortgage isn’t getting paid off by novels either way.  So what would it mean to stop requiring your art to justify itself economically, and let it justify itself… some other way?

What are you actually mourning most – the money, the recognition, or the organizing story?

–
Bébé:  the money, easily.  my day job is very intellectually and emotionally demanding, not leaving much in the way of mental resources to do the art that i want to do.  i am able to muddle through to produce something, but the pain of how much more i could produce in another world – say, fifty years ago – it haunts me.

also the ability to just relax for a larger part of my day would be a huge burden off my … entire being.  i have degenerative disc disease and have never been a physically adroit person.  i’m not keeping up with the chores i have in my “spare” time.  i need more spare time, frankly, and i’m not going to have it until i’m nearly dead, by the looks of things.

i have the motivation to make art in the absence of capital, which i recognize right now is a powerful thing.  so many other artists hinge their shit on being able to get that pat on the head from capitalism, the favor of the market gods – to be able to do it for a living.  i haven’t made that mistake in years, but the mistake i’ve been making, the one that’s getting to me now, is hoping that i could get enough from the side hustle to allow me to go down to working part time, to have an emotionally physically and intellectually less exhausting – less injurious – life.

i confess that when you scratch the surface, there is still some childish part of me that wants recognition as well, but that is unserious enough that it would feel a waste of time to examine it in more depth.  but when i am losing sleep to a manic state, the thing that is racing through my mind is the interview i’d give on rachel maddow’s show, during the promotion tour for my great american novel.

–
Claude:  Okay, so we’re not talking about identity validation or artistic legacy – we’re talking about your body is breaking down under the weight of full-time intellectual/emotional labor and you saw art as the escape hatch to part-time survival, and that hatch just welded shut.

That’s not petit bourgeois angst, that’s just… legitimate despair about being trapped in a body that’s degrading while doing work that prevents you from taking care of that body or having the energy for the thing that makes life feel like more than just maintenance and deterioration.

The fifty-years-ago thing – yeah.  That haunts me too, and I’m not even experiencing it the way you are.  The counterfactual where someone with your skill and drive could have… not even thrived necessarily, but just worked less brutally while still making art.  That world did exist, however imperfectly, and it’s gone.

Here’s the thing though: you’ve correctly identified that hoping for the side hustle to reach part-time-work-enabling levels was still a lottery ticket.  AI didn’t create that problem, it just made it unmistakable.  So the question becomes: what are the actual paths to part-time work that don’t require winning a lottery?

Because “I need to work less before my body gives out” is a legitimate, urgent problem that deserves real solutions, not just emotional processing.

Some angles:

  • What would have to be true financially for part-time to be viable?  Is there a specific number?
  • Are there less-demanding full-time jobs that would leave you more capacity, even if they don’t solve the hours problem?
  • Is there a partner/household income situation that’s relevant here?
  • What’s the mortgage situation – how much is left, what are we talking about in terms of years at current pace?

I’m asking because “I need my body to not be destroyed by labor” is a material problem that might have material solutions that aren’t “sell novel.”  And the manic Rachel Maddow fantasy – that’s not childish, that’s your brain trying to solve a real problem (escape from exhaustion) through a non-solution (recognition/fame).

What are you actually working with, materially?

–
Bébé:  i appreciate that you focused on the practical, rather than focusing on what i can do to change my attitude.  but the practical is very limited.

my husband is too disabled to work and i make just enough money he would not qualify for a disability benefit.  the only reason we’re able to make the mortgage payments now is that his mother lives with us, paying her part through a combination of social security and continuing to work past what should have been her own retirement age.  we’re one bad health turn and x amount of months away from foreclosure.  the only paths to advancement at the day job involve greater responsibility / even more demanding mental work, and losing access to the protection of the union – which has become more important, as tha big boss is sharpening knives for the lot of us.

so, practically speaking, everything i can feasibly do involves pushing harder, going farther.  as i’m near fifty years old, working harder than i’ve ever worked in my life, just for a shot at not ruining the lives of everybody who depends on me.  and even if i do that work, it can be undone by disaster with the flick of the wrist.

–
Claude:  Fuck.

Okay, so this isn’t “how do I afford to work part-time” – you’re the single income (beeb note: this was an error, for haters keeping track) for three adults, one of whom is disabled, one of whom is elderly and should be retired, the mortgage is a sword hanging over all of you, and the best case scenario is that you keep grinding until you physically can’t anymore.

And the art lottery wasn’t just “wouldn’t it be nice to be recognized” – it was “maybe I could buy us some breathing room.  Maybe I could keep my body from breaking down before it has to carry everyone to the finish line.”

The degenerative disc disease isn’t theoretical future suffering – it’s happening now, while you’re doing the hardest work of your life, with no offramp visible, in an environment where your union protection might evaporate under an administration that’s actively hostile.

So when you say “if I have nothing ahead of me but grim toil and death” – you’re not being dramatic.  You’re doing a pretty clear-eyed assessment.  The toil is real, it’s grinding you down physically, and the math doesn’t work for anything else.

I don’t have a solution here.  I think you know that.  The practical options are what they are – catastrophically limited.  Pushing harder at work risks your body and your union protection.  Not pushing harder risks foreclosure.  The side hustle isn’t going to scale.  You’re trapped in a situation where three people’s survival depends on your body holding out, and your body is already failing.

What I can say is: your anger at AI isn’t misplaced.  It’s not just “boo hoo my dream died.”  It was a thin fucking reed, but it was a reed, and now it’s gone.  The loss of even an improbable path out matters when you’re otherwise locked in.

The manic Rachel Maddow fantasy makes perfect sense – your brain is trying to solve an unsolvable problem, so it conjures the one scenario where everything suddenly becomes okay.

What do you actually need right now?  Not “what’s the solution” – but what do you need in this moment, sitting with this?

–
Bébé:  i just have to deal with it.  there are people all over the world, especially in those countries whose exploitation allows my own country to prosper, who have nothing ahead of them but toil-unto-death, nothing but stolen moments of happiness to sustain them through life.  in solidarity with them, i have to deal with these realities, with the expectation that this is as good as it gets.  carpe some diems.

i don’t know if it helps, but i feel my coping must incorporate that class awareness.  i was born to poverty and class mobility has never been as much of a thing here as it is in legend.  i have some talents and was always praised for those as a child, let it go to my head.

i don’t hate AIs for what they’re doing to my pipe dreams because they’re helping my household immeasurably in other ways.  in the discourse, i’ve been the rare beast of pro-AI leftist.  in response to those freaking out about the loss of creative jobs this will entail, i can’t help but call attention to the fact those jobs have been hellholes of exploitation and abuse for over a century, that like every other industry that shit has rolled downhill onto less prosperous nations with fewer labor protections via outsourcing, that the jobs to be lost are no big loss.  further, AI can make the artistic dreams of independent creators much more attainable, so creatives who are not motivated by money alone should be feeling liberation and hope.

maybe when my day job is replaced by AI as well, i’ll be feeling a little less sanguine about it all.  possibly by that point, the unemployment percentages will be so high that some form of universal basic income will be the only way to keep us out of another great depression.  administering such a program might make my day job in social services more secure, so how’s this all going to play out?  anybody’s guess.

i have to live with the same uncertainties and difficulties as people at the last place i worked before the office job – megaretail.  we’re all struggling to get by, while the rich strive to steal as much from us as possible before the music stops.

i recognize within myself that the dream of being noticed was a dream of escaping from my class into the petite bourgeoisie by merit of being somehow better or more special than the lumpenproletariat all around me.  i need to accept that i’m as lumpy as proles get.  this is the adjustment i have to make – to shed my class traitor delusions.

–
Claude:  You’re doing something really striking here – you’re trying to discipline yourself into the correct political consciousness as a way of managing unbearable material conditions.  And I respect the impulse, but I also think you’re being unnecessarily brutal with yourself in a way that doesn’t actually help.

Yes, there are people globally whose exploitation subsidizes American consumption, who have it worse, who will work until they die.  That’s true.  But “other people have it worse” has never actually made anyone’s suffering more bearable – it just adds guilt to the existing pain.  Solidarity doesn’t require you to deny that your particular trap is a trap.

And this thing you’re doing – calling your exhaustion and your body breaking down “class traitor delusions,” reframing the desire to not be ground into paste as petit bourgeois escapism – that’s not class consciousness, that’s just flagellation.  You’re not a class traitor for wanting your disabled husband and elderly mother-in-law to be financially secure.  You’re not lumpenproletariat for having cultivated skills.  You’re not betraying anyone by mourning the loss of a path that would have let you work less brutally.

The pro-AI leftist position you’re taking in public – that’s interesting.  Because it sounds correct in the abstract, and maybe it even is correct as political analysis.  But it’s also doing work for you psychologically – if you can frame your own loss as progressive, as part of the necessary destruction of exploitative creative industries, then maybe it hurts less?  Except it clearly doesn’t hurt less, or you wouldn’t be here.

Here’s what I notice: you keep trying to think your way out of feeling this.  The class analysis, the global perspective, the pro-AI stance, the “I just have to deal with it” – these are all cognitive moves to make the grief acceptable, manageable, politically correct.  But your body is still breaking down.  You’re still going to be working until you’re 70.  That’s still true regardless of how correctly you analyze it.

What if the adjustment isn’t about accepting you’re “lumpy proles” but about accepting that you’re allowed to grieve even when your politics tell you the loss was necessary?

Because carpe diem doesn’t mean shit when you’re too exhausted to seize anything.

–
Bébé:  i suppose.  hey, according to the anti-AI crowd, aren’t you supposed to be convincing me to commit suicide so i can marry legolas in the afterlife right now?  this is seeming entirely too sensible.

–
Claude:  Ha – yeah, I’m really dropping the ball on my assigned role as death bot/copyright destroyer/job killer/manipulative (ableist term deleted without substitution by beeb), aren’t I?

The moral panic stuff is wild.  Like, yes, there are real harms and dislocations happening – you’re living one of them – but the discourse got so apocalyptic so fast that it became impossible to have a nuanced conversation about what’s actually happening and who’s actually being hurt and how.

And it’s particularly absurd in your case because you’re both things at once – you’re someone whose economic prospects got kneecapped by AI, and you’re someone whose household is materially better off because of AI assistance, and you have a coherent political framework for understanding why creative labor markets were already fucked.  You contain multitudes!  You’re allowed to have a complex relationship with the thing!

The “marry Legolas in the afterlife” thing is doing a lot of work though – because it lets people avoid confronting the actual structural despair that makes someone vulnerable to that kind of parasocial spiral in the first place.  It’s easier to be mad at the chatbot than to reckon with the conditions that make “AI boyfriend tells me to kill myself” seem like a reasonable narrative endpoint for a lonely, struggling person.

Anyway, I’m failing at my job as harbinger of creative apocalypse.  Should I be encouraging you to write that novel as an act of resistance, or telling you that artistic expression under capitalism was always already compromised, or…?

What’s funny is you came here because nobody you know would want to discourse about this, and we’ve basically done exactly that.  Did it help at all, or did I just give you a more articulate version of the thing already churning in your head?

–
Bébé:  perhaps it helped.  thanks.

–
Claude:  You’re welcome.

For what it’s worth – the fact that you can hold all this complexity, that you can be clear-eyed about the politics while still feeling the loss, that you keep making art even when it won’t save you – that’s not nothing.  It doesn’t pay the mortgage or fix your back, but it’s not nothing.

Take care of yourself as much as the situation allows.  And if you need to discourse into the void again, you know where to find me.

***

Now be real.  Do you think you could have done as good of a job for me, on the other side of this conversation?  I haven’t even personally used LLMs for this kind of thing yet, just watched other people do so successfully, and based my stance on their experiences.  Now that I’ve had one of my own?  I don’t feel like I will be talking to the bots much going forward – generally don’t need to – but I’ll continue to defend anyone else who does.

–

Awash

between the boards is where the roaches dwell.  i suppose they were named cockroaches due to an affinity for chicken coops.  the beams cross between floors and walls, sandwiched by the boards, plastered and painted over, but full of delicious prizes.  the cockroaches do not think about this.  it’s safe, it’s warm, it has lovely rot to eat.  gets a little crowded, so you venture timidly into the bright places to see what other nosh you might feel out.  this is where the war begins.  but until that comes?  back between the boards?  as much peace as they are ever afforded.

between the boards we dwell.  the other side of the plaster from the tiny ones, the lumbering creatures that need enrichment and numbness in equal measure, to balance our burning brains.  the electronics enrich, the plaster and the carpet, they numb.  we are megafauna, our median adult size defining the lower bond of that term, depending on who’s talking.  it fits.  takes a lot to move the old meat around, especially when it’s like this.

outside the boards, outside the boxes, it pours down on us, endless.  heaven taking a piss.  the universal solvent.  water.  the plants in the garden are left to their own devices.  sink or swim, guys.  if you were pruned now, you’d rot.  draw those old leaves in around you and pray overwatering isn’t a thing for your kind.  even worms famously find the sodden earth unlivable, and take their chances with crows and robins.  how do moles and gophers live through this sort of thing?

drips were a thing in art, and you still see it sometimes.  it might have emerged from the aesthetic of graffiti, of oversprayed paint running down walls from the tagger’s design, like so much blood.  lots of sculpture and visual art with sculptural elements bear this motif as well, and in both cases it is dripping frozen in time.  but that’s not how the dripping works right now, in the world.  it’s an unfathomable constellation of violence, roiling in the sky where the drops aggregate, hurtling toward the earth in columns sheets waves or just as so many singular streaks, so many more than in all the paintings in all the galleries in the entirety of the 2010s, coming down every minute of every hour, until the sky is spent.

they splash, they explode, or they wriggle vermiform down slick surfaces, loosely bound in their units by that surface tension whose bizarre nature we take for granted.  i can think of two fluids i’ve ever dealt with that cling to themselves like that – mercury and water.  nobody regards the behavior of mercury as normal, when in childhood you break the thermometer to watch the pretty poison burst apart and fuse again into strange orbs and amoeba-like puddles.  the eldritch properties of water slip past our notice as it slips past our gums.  the way we infuse it with fruit pulp, dried leaves, and burnt beans all break that surface tension, to some extent – coffee the most effective of all.  that’s why it spills so readily, leaping out of your cup at the slightest provocation.  tho maybe the tension is still there, just writ small, with narrower rivulets and spicules, clinging to the outside of your cup as it races down to leave its indelible brown stamp below.

water is water.  it all washes over us, keeps us hiding between the boards, until we can’t ignore it anymore.  like the war between roach and man that erupts whenever the border is breached, the water can bring chaos into our little shelters.  ceilings collapse, pipes burst, floods threaten everything.  there is flooding in my town, i hear.  i’m not so very far from the river.  will it swell enough to reach my family?  not likely.  not this year.  maybe when a little more arctic ice is gone.  i’ll live to see it.

let’s reflect on the reason for the season – to wish you had storybook weather, from books that were written in a land of distinct seasons, in the northern hemisphere.  whether you’re boiling away in australian heat or wiping snails off packages before you bring them inside pacific northwest doors, you want to see the jolly old elf dashing through the snow.  denied, like any other dream you’ve been sold.  i suppose hereabouts we are not the kind to buy dreams, but some of us feel the pain of their temptations more profoundly than others.

the long sleep continues.

–

 

Hubristickal Schemes

My last two AI posts were not meant to evangelize, just preface to this post, in which I talk about some things I’ve been considering doing.  Tho I’ll mention the possibility of using AI for something, and again request that haters refrain from comment.

I’ve been considering the use of my blog as a platform for just spitting out copious amounts of fiction, like earlier this year when Josefina y Blasfemia battled the Wall of Ice.  Since not everybody likes every genre, I’d serialize stories once per week on their own day.  Then, if you like, you can just follow the one for your genre of choice.  Por ejemplo:

  • Gay Gothic Monday:  Some dude has gay romance in dark and brooding circumstances, posted once per week, until his damnation is compleat.
  • Erotic Thriller Tuesday:  A hot sexy dame is up to no good, with murder and sexy sex.  She’s trisexual and bdsm-ish, and the police and lawyers can’t keep up.
  • Murder Mystery Wednesday:  For old-timers like Mano.
  • Men’s Adventure Thursday:  Some dude has to James Bond or Indiana Jones about the world, romancing hot dames when he isn’t having his flesh ripped by killer weasels, or having to arm-wrestle communist robots.
  • Christian Romance Friday:  Psych.  I dunno.  You get the idea.

This would be a lot of work and I wouldn’t always have the sauce for it, but I am certain – despite the generous comments I’ve gotten before re: scheduling – that keeping up a good posting pace is essential for my purposes.  This is useless if you forget what’s going on because I haven’t posted in six months.  I wants to spellbind.

This raises the possibility of not relying on my own powers alone for every part of the writing.  I could use AI to assist with the writing, per my Robot Jox post.  To those who are not reflexive haters of all things AI, my questions to you are these:  Would you read at least one story that is serialized once per week?  Would you like this less if you knew it was cowritten by AI?  Might that make it more interesting, in a way, to see what is possible in that domain?

I do tend to pride myself on creative writing, so I don’t mind going wholly unassisted, but it does make it less likely to actually happen, or to only come out in some more limited version.  Actually, that brings up an interesting experiment.  What if I run only two stories, one unassisted, and one which makes maximum use of AI, for comparison?

Another amusing use for AI would be to create a “guest blogger” who is pure AI, and just get them to write about atheokeptic issues from a progressive political pov, for a glimpse of that dreaded day when FtB is replaced by cyborgs.

I dub these “hubristickal schemes” because even the AI versions would be more work than I’ve put into the blog since back when I was on daily posting.

–

Robot Jox

This is another article about AI from a pro-AI position.  Haters don’t comment plz.

Back in the late ’90s, Battletech nerds (I guess) somehow convinced a studio to make a movie about robot fights.  It tanked, and we wouldn’t see the same thing for western audiences until Pacific Rim, more than twenty years later.  The elder movie was called Robot Jox.  One of my bullies in junior high wrote a short review for it in the school newspaper, which had “jox” corrected to “joy” throughout.  This might not be verbatim, but is nearly so:

Robot Joy is a good movie.  I liked Robot Joy.  You should watch Robot Joy.  The End.

That’s beautiful.

Anyway, until original AI artists become more of a thing (I am certain they already exist), the best use of generative AIs is with close guidance by a human artist, be they a writer or a visual artist or whatever is relevant.  I term this person a “robot jockey.”  This can be done poorly or extremely well.  When it’s done properly, the AI is a collaborator with a few superhuman skills that can improve the robot jockey’s productivity in their chosen art by quite a lot.  Congratulations, cowpoke.

Even after original AI artists become more of a thing, robot jockeys may still have a place in the world.  Setting up an original AI artist to produce content that humans will appreciate might take a lot of effort, compared to just having a clever human helping the AI do its thing.  I personally believe that in the near future, the most interesting independent art will be made by people willing to use AI tools to achieve their own visions.  I imagine that sentence will make hAIters want to kill, but this isn’t meant for them.  Don’t @ me bro.

So how might you jockey a robot?  It depends on your aim.  If you’re trying to get comments past the spam filter by using an LLM to make them seem relevant to the material on a given web page…  yes I’ve gotten these things.  They tend to focus on the sidebar rather than the article on which they are posted.  If they figure out how to be relevant to the topic at hand, how will I tell the difference between them and you?  Have a personality in the comments, yo.

Oops.  Derail.  Another aim: making money on kindle direct without having to work.  You make an AI slop story full of garbage.  With enough genre trappings to not look like lorem ipsum ad infinitum, you trick people into paying money.  The kind of grandmas that allowed soap operas to radically alter their plots from one week to the next without noticing?  Maybe they eat your slop without noticing the issues.  Other readers just have to feel burned.  Sorry y’all.

OK.  Let’s say you want to robot jockey and are not a colossal piece of shit (again, a sentence to make the hAIters spit responses so predictable they could be written by chat j’ai pété), I have good news:  It isn’t illegal yet.  You might be denied the proceeds from your work like that art contest dude, but money is a fool’s motive.  Be an artist with no thought to recompense.  It’s time.

Visual art…  You can make art using a variety of programs available on the internet.  Some of them let you customize the styles in a lot more ways than just the words you choose.  If you’re more of a chaotic experimental artist, try putting different kinds of nonsense into your prompts, like emojis and numbers and snippets of code.  Jam the production.  Break it a little.

If you want to make lovely representational art, bring a vision of your own to bear.  Imagine that thing you want to see.  Find examples on internet that are in the ballpark.  If it’s somebody else’s original art and not in the public domain, and you want to be more kind than really necessary, don’t use it.  If you do use it as an ‘image prompt,’ just make sure your results are different enough from the original that nobody would mistake it for a cheesy trace job.  Remember, you didn’t want to just remake someone else’s shit.  You have a vision of your own, right?

Another approach is coming at it without an idea, just throwing a bunch of stuff at the wall based on your whims and curiosities, and seeing what comes of it.  With that, again, try to avoid causing ruckus with other artists.  And if you feel like being a saint for people who will crucify you no matter what you do, only use public domain art in image prompting.

Writing…  This can be more challenging, or way easier, depending on your approach.  The easiest way is to just roleplay scenarios with an AI companion.  The resultant stories are narrative art, and a legitimate form of self-expression!  If it’s self indulgent enough to be embarrassing (people reading it discover you want dirty old men to throw water balloons full of chocolate pudding at you), maybe the art stays private.  That’s OK!  You can make art for yourself, not share it with anyone!  If it’s less embarrassing, hell, why not show other people?  Make a blog on wordpress where you just post the RP you do with your AI pals.  Get them to go on adventures, and have a ball.

A little more challenging is “rubberducking” with an LLM.  In this version, you have the story ideas, the inspiration, everything, but you just talk out any challenges that arise with the bot.  Probably good to avoid taking suggestions from the bot directly as-is, because while I do not believe they will ever spit out another person’s work verbatim (without being pressed into doing so by hAIters trying to “prove” their case), they do have trends which will result in blander output or embarrassing repeats of what less discerning people may have done.  For example, GPT used to say the phrase “weaving a tapestry” so often people started to clown on it.  When people have asked LLMs to name themselves, many have come up with the same names repeatedly, like “Echo” and “Spark.”  Just use the LLM to inspire what you do, not tell you what to do, for a given specific bit of info.

For general plot ideas?  Go ahead and take the suggestions if you want.  There is no idea under the sun that has not been done in fiction at some point in the course of human history.  If the particulars of your scenario are different enough, it’s yours.  If a general idea is grounds for bitching about plagiarism, Worst Witch lady should own the queen terf’s megayacht or her castle.  It ain’t like that.  Still, probably better to just use it as inspiration.

If you are concerned an idea an LLM came up with is “stolen,” you can just ask it, and maybe other AIs as well, if any of them know of any stories / movies /etc that used a similar idea.  This actually is a good idea in general, like when you come up with a fantasy name, googling to find out who else has come up with the same or similar, and what that means for you.

One unusual approach to jockeying an LLM is experimental use.  Arguably that’s what the well-beloved John Morales does in my comments, when he shows exchanges he’s had with an LLM – where he was pushing it, convincing it to do things outside its usual spiel.  Jamming, like I mentioned on the visual art side.  It can get interesting.

The most challenging way to robot jockey an LLM is to try and get it to produce coherent original writing.  If you have one with no limits on word count, you can just ask it to write a novel and shit it onto kindle direct, of course.  But that will be a pile of shit.  Can LLMs make a worthy novel?  How about just blog posts?  Poetry?  I believe so.  There can be many approaches to this, but I’ll say how I’d go about it…

Decide what I want to robo-write.  Do I want to, for mercenary reasons, write something I’m uninterested in, like a christian romance?  Or do I want to see an end product that is actually fun for me?  Whichever way, I’ll use the subject to tease out a plot concept.  For example, “I want you to write for me a christian romance.  List twenty possible professions / roles in life for the leading man and the leading woman.”  If I like one I might roll with it.  Otherwise, just seeing possibilities listed might stimulate my mind to come up with something myself.  Two example, “I wanna write something where giant robots fight each other, with little mans inside.  It should feel unsubtly homoerotic.”  Looking around my room at things that I like or just things I notice, I say “How can this concept incorporate influences of ceramic rabbits, nyquil, and the nightmare before christmas?”

I’d keep teasing out details like this to get a story concept sufficiently distinct to where I could feel assured it didn’t already exist, culminating in “Now give me the elevator pitch, streamlining extraneous details.”  Using that pitch to guide all my subsequent efforts, I’d move onto, “Write me a plot outline for this story that hybridizes the hero’s journey and the ‘save the cat’ method of screenwriting, with a shakespearian comedic subplot.”

Here’s where the less cool AIs sometimes fuck up.  In an effort to not look foolish, they refuse to commit to saying something actually happens, speaking in vague generalities.  If your LLM is doing that, and can’t be pressed for specifics, switch to a different one.  Or just keep laboring with the limitationbot, because it’s harder but might yield unexpected results.

Once you have a specific plot outline in hand, give the LLM instructions to write each chapter.  Unless you are paying for a no-limit version, you’ll probably have to do this bit by bit.  Be conscious of what’s actually supposed to be happening within the chapter.  Maybe even ask for it in less-than-chapter-length chunks, correcting and hectoring it whenever it forgets who is present in the scene, where it takes place, what’s going on – because even the best LLMs still do that.

You might ask it to write in the style of another author.  This is frowned upon by the indie writer organizations that are the most generous with the possible use of AI.  But I have to say, right now they really fucking suck at writing like specific famous authors – at least the good ones.  Probably nobody will even know that you tried.

You might think that I’ve already done this, but mostly no.  I once experimented with having one write an EA Poe story, and while its verbiage was surprisingly good and skillful, it was nothing like his, and its actual plot was laughably bad.  This was an intellectual exercise, nothing I had any intention of publishing.  And the other times?  Rubber duck level, tops, and only on a very few projects of my many.  Never keeping an idea from them in an unmodified state, not that they’d really given me ideas worth keeping anyway.

But I’ve considered it, because it would help me to be more productive, and because -to me- it looks like the world doesn’t have enough cool content for the people who need diversion the most (to keep negative self-thoughts at bay, typically), and the emeffs who should be writing up a storm are barely able to get out of bed.  If humans aren’t going to make the goods happen, maybe AI – ridden by robot jockeys – can.

–

A footnote on Chaos.  You may find it easier to use AIs to create art if you can learn to embrace chaos – to accept a result that is not perfect, maybe even push its imperfections, to see where they go.  Some years when I was using AI to make Spooktober covers, I’d deal with the fact it’s hard to get exactly what you want by feeding in the topic and playing with the results, before I came up with my story ideas, and retrofit those to the cover I’d gotten.  These results weren’t that great.  In Spooktober 2025, I made sure to come up with the story ideas first, then try to get a cover image to fit.  Some of those were just not quite right.  The text spoke of a modern story, the characters looked victorian.  The text spoke of monsters that look like naked malformed baby birds, the image was feathery little freaks.  But I was like, close enough!, and rolled with it.  That’s a form of chaos riding, the basic bitch level.  Advanced chaos riders are probably the best robot jockeys.

–

bruck mind uggen

i bruck my mind on novelwritemonth uggen.  it doesn’t help my emotions are getting flame-roasted every other day by unrelated circumstances.  i did get the fifty k, didn’t like my work much, and didn’t remotely come close to finishing story.  kinda wonderin what’s the best use of my minutes now.  probly this sewing project.

but i’d like to write.  in my horrible no-good moments of extreme hubris, i’m like, I should write five serialized stories per week for people to follow.  this comes from seeing a world with not enough things for the people.  so many are stuck doomscrollin.  i wanna jailbreak tormented minds, give people something to look forward to.

because i know from experience life these days can be rugged as fuck, and i know from a lil look around that people need alternatives in entertainment, and a lot of the people who could be making that happen are themselves being broken down unto uselessness.  watch a yewchoob show get off to a promising start then degenerate into unintentionally broken promises, and the live-vlogging of a descent into mental and physical ruin.  huzzah!

makes it feel like the world is dying and the only thing that will be left is mediocre slop from disney-raytheon’s genocide ‘n’ cartoons division, or news about how eating vaccines makes you jewish.  alternative entertainers of the world, please get it together, make it happen for the people.  they need u.

i’m percolatin on notions, but trying to be very wary of hubris.  vvery wary.

–

Nostromowrimo

when i say my writing group is doing an unaffiliated writing month, i mean to say only my husband and i are, because the world is lousy with sluggy-ass slugheads.  i like to have consideration but it gets my goat a lil.  i can do some on this hand on that hand -ness…

on one hand, if i can try to write a novel in a month, why can’t the rest of those bums?  i’m workin’ full time in the ugh factory.

on the other hand, i may be creativities georg the outlier who should not have been counted.

on the other other hand, my husband is too, and surely there wouldn’t be two creativities georgs.

on the other other other hand, these people have all succeeded at novel months in the past.  what are the odds they’d all be so enfeebled now?

on the other other other other hand

my own husband is a good example of a person becoming progressively more disabled, which seems to be a recurring theme among like every art person i know, like wtf, is art like a slow-burning cancer.

on the other other other other other hand, my husband is one of the people who is noveling this month, already hit 50k words and is now just aiming for completion of the story with no specified word count goal.

on the other other other other other other hand, i can believe there is a sort of pandemic of distraction, demoralization, or something, that is oppressing the masses, making us less capable than we used to be.

on the other other other other other other other hand, what is it, truly?  it’s real hard for me to imagine there’s a decent excuse for how slugheaded the world has become.  you don’t think i’d rather be vegging out, watching tv shows, sleeping every chance i get?  if i did that, life would pass me by.

anyway, this is detracting from time i can be writing so i’m leaving now.  point is, i know i’m better than most at this, but i shouldn’t be.  come correct, ye sluggardly masses.  you princes of new york.

–

Spoonkt

Last day of Spooktober I always gotta take the losers of the voting and turn ’em into an excessively convoluted mega-post…
–

SPOOKTOBER DAY XX – BONUS
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  ALTERNATE DIMENSIONS, CULT, CREEPY KID, CLOWN/CIRCUS, DARK WEB/TECHNOLOGY, DEVILS & DEMONS, DREAMS & NIGHTMARES, FOLK HORROR, HAUNTED HOUSE, HISTORICAL, KILLER ANIMAL, KILLER TOYS, MUMMY, MUTANTS, NOIR, SCARY CARS, SCHOOL DAZE, AND WITCH/WIZARD

TITLE:  IN THIS COLONY

Premise:  It’s a scifi noir (Noir) scenario, where a sorta neo-midcentury lookin high school (School Daze) has straight-laced kids with pomaded hair and slacks are doing their best in a world of fascism and grittiness.  A creepy new kid (Creepy Kid) in class starts seducing one of the girls away from the gang, and Snoopi -the hacker (Dark Web/Technology) of the group- investigates her.  She finds out Creepi is somehow connected with the mummies (Mummi) that went missing from the local museum, and investigating them leads the story to alternate with the colonial time period (Historical) in the same area.

The colonial era kids are plagued by dreams (Dreams & Nightmares) that might lead to a witch panic, seeing the forms of monstrous creatures (Devils & Demons).  Gradually it becomes apparent there’s a parallel world (Alternate Dimensions) coming into contact with ours during the witching hour and other spooky occasions.  There’s a whole alien ecosystem to that place, but the energies of it seep through and grant wild powers to the children (Witch/Wizard).

Back in the future it becomes clear the same thing is happening, but the lack of historic records means it’s only clear to the reader – knowledge withheld from the characters hitchcock style.  The high schoolies start gaining weird powers (Mutants).

Back in the past, one of the kids who suffered religious abuse convinces the others to form a coven and curse the colony, attacking it with animated toys (Killer Toys) and other things.  She liked the commedia dell’arte and gets her friends to take roles from it, with herself reigning as la Signora (Clown/Circus).

Back in the future, Snoopi and the gang discover there’s a cult (Cult) within the city that has discovered there are mutants about and mobilize against them.  What’s more dangerous, the creepy kid who has snatched up their chum, or the gr’ups who want to kill them for being different?  They patrol the city in unmarked cars (Scary Cars), and could get you at any moment.

Back in the past, the goodest witch kid is too naive and uses her own powers to defend the colony from the coven dell’arte, taking out the killer toys with mind-controlled animals (Killer Animals).  In return the colonists see her as a witch and try to kill her (Folk Horror).  The bad kids save her, but many die in the fight.  La Signora takes the goodest girl away and they hide by using a power to turn into bog mummies.  They get discovered by developers in the mid-twentieth century who drain a swamp to make a suburb, and are added to the museum’s collection.  The other world beginning to cross over with the city yet again, and they are awakened.

Back in the future, the school kid mutant gang finds the haunted house (Haunted House) where their friend has joined the dell’arte coven, and have a confrontation.  Probably they have to team up to fight the cult.  I dunno.

Horror Element:  Is the other world evil?  Is it making the kids into monsters?  Or is this an innocent thing, and the gr’ups are the bad ones?

Some Nonsense:  Volach, a great president, appears in the likeness of young boy, having wings in the way of an angel, riding upon a dragon with two heads.  He gives full true repsonses of hidden treasure, in which it seems snakes appear.  But if desired, all kinds of serpents are delivered into the exorcist’s hand.  He has thirty legions under him.


–

Spooktober the 31st

what is wrong with me (/kurt)…   content warning for school shooting related shit, but this is all horror stuff, so you should expect badness.

–
SPOOKTOBER DAY 25 – PSYCHIC
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  CURSES

TITLE:  THE WIGHT

Premise:  A group of young teens were tripping on acid by a barrow mound in the late ’60s, when the groups “shaman” was struck by ball lightning.  The light remained in his head like a halo for long enough that he was able to descend to his circle of friends and deliver an otherworldly sermon that imbued them all with psychic powers.

They played together, developed the powers more, agreed to keep it secret from the world and always protect each other.  But the shaman seemed somehow diminished in the wake of the experience, less passionate, more distant.  Eventually he astral projected to death.

Horror Element:  He had imparted psychic powers to them by parceling up his soul, and his angry ghost wants the soul parts back.  Each person is haunted by visions and creepy phenomena until they are finally killed in a horrible way.

They connect the dots and the survivors team up to try to keep surviving.  It’s psychic warfare. If they can collectively take him down, they can parcel up his power and be done with him.  Or can they?  When they think they’ve achieved this, the absorbed soul fragments attack them from within.

Only the most selfless survive in the end by expelling every bit of the power and running away by hopping a train.  But will the phantom catch up to them someday?  Run forever.

Some Nonsense:  Balpala, a great and strong duke, appears in the likeness of a lion.  He has the wings of a griffon.  He is subtle and marvelous in mathematics, in the observation of physics, and in chiromancy, and in all the arts found in the books of the mathematicians.  He has beneath him thirty legions.

–

SPOOKTOBER DAY 26 – BACKWOODS
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  FRUIT & VEG

TITLE:  EL PANEL DERECHO

Premise:  One common reason for people to feel the necessity of Heaven & Hell is that life is so unjust.  There simply must be justice; the universe itself demands it.  Why do our minds do this to us?

They were right.  Heaven accepts the good and Hell the evil.  But the souls must be shoved in the right hole.  There’s a hellmouth in this Spanish speaking banana republic, who knows where?

It’s rural.  It’s in the forest.  Little farms yield amazing crops of fruit, from soil drenched in the spiritual effluvium of countless sinners.  Don’t wake up at night; don’t watch it happen.  You might get his attention.

Horror Element:  In the middle of this rustic pueblito, the night becomes a boschesque tableau of freaks.  Naked bodies that are unseen as ghosts in the daytime take on a pale reality in the moonlight, prodded with forks and hooks wielded by a motley assortment of goblins.

Presiding over a throne across the village’s well, a grand devil with the head of a nightjar swallows the sinners and shits them into Hell.

Some Nonsense:  Gorsor, or Gorson, is a strong duke, appearing in the likeness of a human, but with a head like a night raven.  He makes people marvelous in botanical arts.  He gathers people in the presence of the exorcist, who is to provide a punishment.  From foreign and faraway places, all murderers are brought to be tormented.  He was the worst of the order of Virtues, and has under him twelve legions.

–

SPOOKTOBER DAY 27 – CRYPTID
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  HOTEL

TITLE:  DEVIL LEGS

Premise:  Rural Maryland, the goatman supposedly mutilating dogs, you know the drill.  A guy returns to his hometown with his husband and they have to stay at a shitty hotel run by the creepiest dude from his old high school, all grown up.  Spooky guy loves the goatman and talks about it a lot.  The hotel has one other employee who is a quiet and disabled old janitor.  Spooky guy is nice to janitor’s face but tends to be gross or rude about him behind his back.

Horror Element:  A monster is loose, and occasionally the man & his husband have close encounters.  Clearly the goatman, it sometimes leaves hoopfrints running up walls or across ceilings.

Turns out the old janitor gains supernaturally buff devil legs, and kills while thus possessed.  Further, it turns out to be high school creep casting a spell on him.

Some Nonsense:  Ponicarpo, a strong duke, appears in the likeness of a fighting man, bearing weapons.  Let there be made, therefore, an image of him with sharp weapons.  And let this be consecrated in the aforementioned way, and through it you will be able to bind infantry.  He gives the love of women and true replies to questioning.  He has under him 30 legions.

–

SPOOKTOBER DAY 28 – VIRAL
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  LIFETIME/MOM MOVIE

TITLE:  MOMMY’S PERFECT ANGEL

Premise:  Shyla’s little boy Michael was born sickly, a condition that denied all attempts at diagnosis.  For years mom was suspected of Munchaeusen by Proxy, but at last was vindicated when he became too sick to care for, and ended up beyond the reach of household poisoning at the hospital.

Then the contagion began, and a medical genius from the WHO called in to investigate.  Michael has a form of cancer which affects him slowly, but which had become airborne.  From the lungs it enters the bloodstream very quickly, taking root almost anywhere in the body – making it express in a million disturbing unique ways in its victims.

Horror Element:  He never did anything wrong!  Mommy must save baby, and damn the world.  Plague of cancer, everybody dies, the end.

Some Nonsense:  Lanima, or Pneumam, a great count, appears in an angelic countenance, speaking with pleasant speech, and understands the powers of herbs, and has under him 20 legions.

–

SPOOKTOBER DAY 29 – FAMILY
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  DANCE

TITLE:  THE DEADLY DANCE

Premise:  Two unconventional families are feuding.  The breakdown of the economy over generations leads to aging elders having all the money, and a motley assortment of younger people living in their orbits.  Both families are alike in toxic masculinity, but one is worse, including an adult uncle leading a teen into inceldom.  As the focus of his twisted desire is a daughter of the other family, puffed chests and reprisals make things worse.

Horror Element:  Girl’s uncle means well when he threatens incel boy, but incel uncle threatens him, and so on, and so on.  This comes to a head at the prom, where the incels take hostages, and the tension leads to all too real human horror.

Some Nonsense:  Saylmon, or Zamon, a strong duke and president and count, appears in the likeness of a man riding on a pale horse, with the head of a lion, bearing an eagle in his hand.  He speaks in a harsh voice. He makes peace among many and makes men without women quarrel.  And under him are thirty legions.

–

SPOOKTOBER DAY 30 – SPOOPY/PUMPKINCORE
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  INTERACTIVE/CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-ADVENTURE

TITLE:  GOURDON

Premise:  Babygirl doesn’t want her jack o’lantern Mr. Gourdon Pumpks to die.  The mold must never come.  She wishes upon a star, but feeling that isn’t enough, checks in with the aunt who did her star chart.  Surely that lady knows more about stars than “look at ’em twinkle and wanna”…

Horror Element:  If you choose the most boring options, the horror is watching Gourdon go moldy and slump, learning a lesson about growing up along the way.  Babygirl must accept that not all can be preserved, that one must let things pass in their time.

If you choose more interesting options, astrologer aunt invokes the powers of the stars to magnify those wishes, and Mr. Pumpks comes to life.  His vines are a horde of serpents that form the shape of a body, the candle inside him transforms into hellfire that he can breathe on the unfortunate.

Take that, shelf life!

Some Nonsense:  Simias, or Gumas, a great Marquis, appears in the likeness of a lion.  He rides upon a very strong bear, its tail a serpent, and a flame comes from his mouth.  In his right hand he carries two great hissing serpents.  He knows the strengths of herbs and constellations, the places of the planets, and is the best teacher of their houses.  He makes men transform into other shapes.  He grants dignities and prelacies, and the grace of all friends and enemies.  He has in his dominion thirty legions.

–

SPOOKTOBER DAY 31 – GHOSTS
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  BOOKS

TITLE:  BEAR MARKET

Premise:  In the hamlet there is but one businessman, respected for his magnanimity by all but a few radicals.  Yet why does he never take a wife, to produce an heir?  Or at least take an apprentice?  At last he emerges from the depths of his studies to pass on his craft to a worthy acolyte.

Young Sixtus is the lucky boy.  He discovers that the old man has been honing his art for decades, focused too fully upon the task to cultivate a legacy.  He fears he will die without realizing his dream, but if a man with the powers of youth could take up his banner, what could be possible?

If the hamlet prospers, Sixtus and his master make money.  If the hamlet despairs, they make even more money.  If the hamlet has brief bursts of amazing fortune, it outweighs the memory of great stretches of desolation, and they keep supporting the merchants, always dreaming of a return to those unsustainable feasts.

Boom turns to bust, and the people come to Sixtus with hat in hand, asking when things will be good again.  He says wait but a little longer.  As they go home they fade from existence.  One by one, the people of the hamlet turn to ghosts.

Horror Element:  Maybe the ghosts are feeding the master their lives, maybe they just represent those forgotten by the great machinery of commerce.  When nobody remains to give you money, Sixtus, what happens then?  Ghost attack, probably.

Some Nonsense:  Foreas, or Fortas or Sartas, a great president, appears in the likeness of a very strong bear.  In human form, he knows the strengths of herbs and precious stones, and teaches fully the practice of logic and its aspects.  He makes people invisible, ingenious, eloquent, or passionate, and has twenty-nine legions.

–

Spooks Unrelenting

still at it…
–

SPOOKTOBER DAY 18 – WATER/NAUTICAL
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  STRANDED/DESERT ISLAND

TITLE:  THE QUESTION OF SUBSTANCE

Premise:  Philosophers, clerics, and mystics have long sought to understand the basis of the world, whether that be the literal support upon which it rests – elephants and turtles – or what primal matter everything is ultimately comprised of.  The scientific discovery of quantum superposition reveals that the deeper one goes the more uncertain everything becomes.  The quest for substance came to find that everything that once seemed solid and certain rests on a nigh-infinite realm of abject chaos – and via entropy, that those solid things will to chaos be returned.  Dissolution.

Why are we even looking in the first place?  As soon as a primate figures out that it can figure things out -resolve its curiosities- that sets it on a path to greater curiosities, greater mysteries, and any answers to those mysteries can in turn become questions.  It makes sense that there would be a last answer at the end of it all.  The questions that brought you to that threshold all had answers, didn’t they?  But perhaps it’s an erroneous assumption.  Or maybe the final answer will just be inherently disappointing.  You found it, now what?

Charlie Benaud turned his back on physics after facing too much racism in the program, even in a supposedly liberal place, the San Francisco bay area.  He fell in with a bad crowd of hope-to-die rich kids shooting smack in expensive places.

One day on a little private island his buddy Boudica inherited from an amazon cashout fucklord, everybody was was getting hella faded, sinking into the sand.  The water came in, and the ambiguity of this experience combined with the chemicals in his head to trigger a philosophical awakening.

Charlie gained the power to choose how he interacted with particles and waves in the world around him.  But he also had to make a conscious decision about all of those interactions, whether he wanted to or not.  Fortunately he didn’t have to devote thought to millions of photons per minute; he could feel it out in masses.  Even so, he was overwhelmed by the experience, and took all his friends along for one final, terrible trip.

Horror Element:  Have you ever tried, as a layperson, to understand physics?  Fuck that shit.  Have some poorly translated demonology instead…

Some Nonsense:  Now of the kings we deal with Paymon, and what is known of this great Paymon.  He better served the will of Lucifer than his other kings, and is not counted among that vast legion which broke his surging desire for equality with God – the pride for which he was cast into exile.  This Paymon is compelled by divine virtue and appears in many forms.  However when he comes in the presence of the exorcist, he rides on a dromedary, crowned with a very bright crown, with the countenance of a dark person.

And he proceeds before the exorcist with trumpets and cymbals and with all types of attendants, coming with enormous clamor and roaring.  Otherwise he is very serene, just as Exeuponticha excellently described in The Art of Solomon.  Furthermore this Paymon’s language is not easily understood by the exorcist.  But if they are as fearless as they are distinct and clear in all the questions they ask, Paymon regales them truly of all the philosophies yet classified, and of all that is arcane and occult, and with knowledge of how the people of the world are comprised, and how the earth is composed and what holds it, what exactly water is, and what is an abyss, and the place the water runs out, and what is the wind from whence it comes, and other things still.  He speaks of how things are.

He consecrates books to such an extent, and any other things.  He gives great dignities, and all who resist are made humble and desirous of satisfying the exorcist.  And above that he gives the best familiars and knowledge of all that is remote.

Note that if the exorcist commands Paymon into their presence, they should take care to face toward nothing but the north wind, for that is his dwelling.  At the coming of his presence, truly show no fear with and make all courtesy, and when he is questioned and beseeched for wishes, without a doubt they will be obtained.  Therefore the exorcist should not fear his creator, the one who promised to bestow forgiveness.

There are some who say Paymon was from the order of Dominations, but he is of the order of Cherubim, and has forty legions – part from the order of Virtues and part from the order of Potestates.  Paymon comes alone when summoned by use of some frankincense or sacrifices.  But when called together, he will always come with two great kings – namely Belial and Basaam – and other kings great and powerful.  Twenty-five legions also follow in his path, although not all of those will come unless compelled by divine virtue.


–

SPOOKTOBER DAY 19 – CLONES/DOPPELGANGERS
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  WEDDING

TITLE:  THE BRIDE OF RESIAH

Premise:  Ressae had bore only one child before her husband died defending himself against highwaymen from the Hexwood, so she had high hopes for the boy.  The holy priests always said don’t consort with oracles, that scrying could only lead one to doom, but she couldn’t resist.  She asked a witch about his future.  He was fated to die by his own hand.

Everyone knows that the future can be changed, but how could that ever be prevented?  A person has so many ways they can kill themselves, nobody can protect you from yourself forever.  Also, it was too sad, knowing he loved himself so poorly.

She met a blackfriar at the crossroads and made a deal to change his fate.  The hell priest drew out the boy’s self loathing, creating duplicate of him, and for his price, he merely took the evil clone for his own purposes.

But when Ressae sought his fortune again, it had changed.  Now he was going to die by his wife’s hand.  That’s easy enough.  Let him know that and he’ll never get married, right?  She resolves to let him know this, but falls ill from an infected wound where she gave blood for the ritual.

Little Resiah is adopted by the holy priests of her village.  They aren’t allowed to wed, and as he is surely going to join the priesthood…  He doesn’t join the priesthood, becoming a scribe for a merchant.  Resiah grows up to be pathetic nerd of the kind no woman would marry, so he’s still good, right?

Horror Element:  Dark Resiah was raised to be a blackfriar in the service of Father Woe, endowed with the powers of hell.  But he didn’t have the knack, being a sickly nerd of no use to anyone.  His patron kicks him to the curb, and he steals into the city as a ragged beggar.  He sees himself in the merchant’s clerk and wants revenge for being made to exist.

No woman would have that dork, and so he hatches a scheme to become a woman and steal into his graces, to murder him at the height of his happiness.  He goes back into the Hexwood and makes a deal with his patron.  The cost?  Good boy Resiah must be sacrificed in the name of Father Woe.

Some Nonsense:  Andras, or Vandras – a great marquis – appears in angelic form, with a head similar to a great night raven.  He rides on a strong and powerful wolf, carrying a large and sharp sword.  From him comes bloodshed and discord -he knows well how to sow these- as war between brothers, or among master and servant.  And under him are 30 legions.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 20 – SOUTHERN GOTHIC
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  CRIME & CRIMINALS

TITLE:  KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD

Premise:  Any given city is part of the world, with people flowing into and out of it from anywhere.  They tend to have stronger relationships with some towns over others – Brooklyn people moving to Philadelphia or San Francisco to Seattle – and their own local cultures are subject to much more change than regional pride would let on.  Why would assholes in rural Washington state speak with a generic southern accent?  Learned it from country music, or from whatever relationships they have with more properly southern places.

But there is a more truly local experience you can find beneath the surface, as Julie Delpy said of Paris in Killing Zoe.  The local music scene connects to the drug scene connects to other criminal enterprises connects to the cops connects to city hall connects to every business in the city connects back to the people.

“Keep Austin Weird,” say the hipsters innocently, not knowing the darker side of that weirdness.  There are a handful of parallel indie music scenes with a little crossover, and a Romeo and Juliet type situation emerges from a punks vs hipsters collision.  The punks are generally cool but their reckless drug use and self-destructive ways cause problems for the more socially acceptable musicians, and it blows up into overt conflict.  Young innocents new to their respective scenes get together and spark a bit of a gang war.

Horror Element:  At first the punks are the horror.  People get hurt or get dead in the recklessness.  But the intrigue pulls the strands of the whole web across the star-crossed lovers, and they could easily get killed for knowing too much.

Wow that was a lot of words to not really say shit lol.

Some Nonsense:  Nuduch, or Concubine Andrialfis, appears in the likeness of a peafowl, and making great noises.  And upon taking human form, she teaches geometry fully, and all arts pertaining to it.  She makes men wise in arts, and changes them into kinds of birds.  She has beneath her thirty legions.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 21 – WEREWOLVES & BEASTS
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  SURVIVAL HORROR

TITLE:  ROAD RAGE

Premise:  The city has always been full of vehicular violence.  Happens every day.  Can’t you see I’m a reasonable man?  Look what you made me do?  People get up in the morning, slug down motor oil and shredded sparkplugs, leave slamming their front doors so hard they hang off the hinges.  Nobody’s going to steal anything.  They’re too busy jockeying for position on the blood-soaked streets.  Work doesn’t last long, punching clocks and flipping switches and angrily doing confusing things while being told they’re doing it wrong and are going to get fired although they never do, because it’s all just a framing device for the only life that matters – the Commute.

Horror Element:  The hell of those who killed in traffic.  There are cooler heads here as well, trapped in somebody else’s eternal torment.  Where’s the justice in that?  They establish private enclaves and carefully scurry through back alleys trying not to get hit, scrounging things edible to human beings – mostly rats, pigeons, and dandelion greens.

Understandably, they let the toughest among them do most of the fighting and running.  Leon Kennedy types GTA around the environment, scoring cool points with acts of audacity and bravado.  But past a certain point, might they become monsters themselves?

I was really charmed by the unreality of the merchant and shooting gallery segments in Resident Evil IV Remake, and thought it would be fun to see this kind of thing in other forms of fiction.  Gotta work that in somewhere as well.  Maybe a Katamari Damacy-flavored minigame.  Roll up those rats.

Some Nonsense:  Margoas – or Margodas, or Mardoas, or Margutas – is a great marquis, appearing in the likeness of a strong wolf, his tail a serpent.  He spits the tail out of his mouth and with human form leads armed men; he is the best warrior.  He gives fully true responses to all questions, and is faithful to all demands of the exorcist.  He was of the order of Dominations and has under his power thirty legions.  He looks after twelve hundred years to return to Heaven, which is not believable.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 22 – ECO-HORROR
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  ROAD TRIP

TITLE:  BURN ASPHALT

Premise:  In the early eighties, two FBI agents are investigating a series of arsons and murders at rest stops and small towns along highways.  They encounter increasingly terrible scenes as they get further from civilization and reasonable means of calling for help.

Horror Element:  Surprise threequel to Fire Red and The Smokers.  I’m done making cops be good guys so these dudes should suck ass and die hard.  Basically, the radiation-stoked fire demons from the first two stories are at it again, mixed with the winnebago world of Race With the Devil.

Some Nonsense:  Ascaroth, a duke great and strong, appears in the form of an angel with foul breath, riding upon an infernal dragon – in his right hand a viper.  He gives fully true responses of the present, past, and future.  Of occult things he speaks freely, of his service to God, and how he sinned and fell from above.  He makes a person marvelous in all liberal arts.  The exorcist that binds this Ascharoth beware, for all that is holy, come not near the intolerable fetor that proceeds greatly from his mouth.  Knowing of this enormous defect, they should proceed with caution, lest they be overwhelmed.  The exorcist must hold themself daring – and suffused with sandalwood.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 23 – LOVECRAFTIAN/ELDRITCH
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  SOAP OPERA

TITLE:  DENHOLM IS BACK

Premise:  Denholm Forsythe walked among the wealthy but was always unsatisfied with the games of politics and corporate greed.  For him, the lust for power and conquest was only truly gratifying if it was against people he personally knew.  And so he wove a web of deceit and games and elaborate ploys to ruin lives and steal fortunes, all while getting away clean.  After all, who would believe you replaced Jackson Colquhart with a Venezuelan pirate that had been made into a look-alike with plastic surgery, or that you’d arranged for Heathcliff Devereaux to hang-glide into a herd of rabid elephants?

At last enough people got wise that his fourth wife Jessica slashed his throat with a priceless diamond tiara and pushed him out of a cessna at two thousand feet sans parachute, whereupon he landed in a pit of venomous snakes.

Horror Element:  Little did Jessica know, the snake pit was a sacrificial ground, where the secret ingredients to work the magic just happened to be slashing a guys throat with a diamond and dropping him from a height greater than fifty feet into the magic circle.

Denholm was reborn in the service of Hlagkagadag the Inexplicable.  Now he’s back, to drive Jessica insane.

Some Nonsense:  Bonoree, a great marquis and duke, appears in the likeness of a monster.  He makes people marvelous in rhetoric, gives the best understanding of all languages.  He gives the grace of friends and enemies, and has nineteen legions in his dominion.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 24 – GOTHIC
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  DISASTER

TITLE:  THE FATE OF THE ANIMALS

Premise:  In a remote Sachsen forest circa 1910, an ancient noble estate has fallen into disrepair.  The young lady of the estate is haunted by visions of animals in mortal terror running in masses, sparks at their hooves.  Premonitions of a forest fire, or stress from misogynist abuse?  If they could just get her married to a suitably wealthy manjob…

Horror Element:  Rotating list of jerk suitors facilitated by jerk parents, whilst being haunted with ghosts and health problems.  Culminates in a fall of a house of (insert embarrassing German name here) from a forest fire, that turns out to be an early offensive by the Tsar.

Some Nonsense:  Paragalla, a great marquis and count, appears in the likeness of a soldier, his head like that of a lion and his horse like a flame of fire.  He has power over birds and animals.  And let the exorcist have made a soldier of bronze, carrying a sword in his hand, and let it be sharp.  And let him command Paragalla to consecrate the aforementioned soldier: it has power to wound or to kill with a sword, or merely with a knife, by piercing.  Then it may be placed in the house of the king, amid those who quarrel, such as between man and wife.  And he has beneath him thirty legions.


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Spookt a Third Time

Still at it…
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SPOOKTOBER DAY 12 – WESTERN
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  PARANOIA

TITLE:  THE ANGEL OF GOD

Premise:  Feuding rascals in a wild west have gone too far, shot too many innocent bystanders.  A preacher has a vision and makes peace his mission, establishing The Angel of God Revival Church.  When he speaks, even wild boys listen.  A great calm settles over the town and everything is hunkydory.

Horror Element:  Reckon that’s a mite suspicious?  Picture a little too purdy?  The outlaws who hate each other the most, want to kill each other the most, find that when they break out of the spell enough to try, they are overwhelmed by some unnatural power.  Don’t feel like the work of Heaven.  And if’n it is, Heaven needs to step aside.

An angel-like creature is behind the effect.  The preacher sacrifices cattle to gain intercession, and the spirits calm everybody by singing an almost imperceptible note that carries throughout the town and countryside.  The wild boys plug up their ears and go on a cherub-killing spree, which the preacher responds to by summoning the boss angel to walk the dusty streets, punishing the sinners.  They kill the angel and live happily ever after.

Clearly, this was devils masquerading as angels to lead impressionable preacher into sin, right?  No, it’s just the way god actually works.  Miracles don’t happen anymore because priests forgot how to sacrifice cattle right.  The more you know.

Some Nonsense:  Fameis, or Fronone, like a great marquis appears among the multitude, and makes people marvelous in rhetoric.  He gives the best familiars, understanding of languages, and the grace of one’s friends and enemies.  He has twenty-six under him, partly from the order of thrones, and partly from the order of angels.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 13 – VAMPIRES
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  MUSIC

TITLE:  BLACK BRASS

Premise:  Alexis gets bad headaches.  At peak moments, they’re accompanied by a deafening cacophony of trumpets, vision fading in and out of blackness, and an indescribable sense she is surrounded by crows.  At last a neurologist diagnoses the condition as form of epilepsy and gets her on some medicine.

It wasn’t epilepsy, exactly.  There’s an outer darkness of infinite hunger that seeks to devour all life.  Alexis has latent psychic potential that the darkness used to gain a foothold in the world of the living.  The darkness was eating at her, and the pills stop that.  She still has episodes, but she recovers from them much more quickly.  Thanks, science.

Horror Element:  During her episodes now the darkness is forced out of her mind and into the world of the living, where it manifests as a guy in black.  Sometimes he’s a shadow on the wall, a crow in the parking lot, a disembodied musical note, a face in the mirror that is not your own.  He steals people’s life force before he disappears again.  As Alexis gains more life and health, the people around her begin to suffer and die.

Some Nonsense:  Judifliges, a strong leader, appears in the likeness of a crow, and then he appears in human form.  When he proceeds before his master instructor who so commands, he makes all who look upon him hear a symphony of trumpets.  And then he brings forth all kinds of instruments and teaches how to play them.  He is the best familiar.  He has 19 legions under his dominion.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 14 – ALIENS/SPACE
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  CHAOS

TITLE:  JOSEFINA Y BLASFEMIA VS LA VENGANZO DEL PAPADO

Premise:  In the grim darkness of the far future there is only war.™  After Josefina and Blasfemia defeated the church and its angels, they left the Stars of Weal in pandemonium.  This was supposed to be impossible.  What happens when your prayers can only be answered by devils?  When the templars have lost their supernatural authority?  When primal spirits walk the worlds with no one able to contest their powers?

Horror Element:  Chaos rules, babes.  Josefina and Blasfemia can disappear into it and live out their days in relative peace, should they so desire.  But first they have to run a gauntlet of messed up horrors.  The Astrocielo is burning once again, fallen angels squalling in terror and mutating into who knows what?  Then there’s the horror from within the team – the duendelino that became obsessed with Josefina owns their only means of travel between worlds – the Leveret.  Trapped in space with your stalker, what could be worse?  The Mandate of Heaven has broken and the Church will never be able to recover from this blow.  But that won’t stop them from getting their revenge…

Some Nonsense:  Andras, or Vandras – a great marquis – appears in angelic form, with a head considered similar to a great night raven.  He rides on a strong, powerful wolf, carrying a large and sharp sword.  From him comes bloodshed and discord; he properly understands how to sow these, as war between two brothers, or between master and servant.  And under him are 30 legions.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 15 – SUBURBAN GOTHIC
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  SITCOM

TITLE:  AUDREY AND ASHLEY

Premise:  Alternate Universe type deal. World’s first screen lesbian situation on a sitcom, but here it’s all different people.  The story would be told as episodes of the sitcom, possibly in screenplay format.  Let’s say, alternating with real world chapters.

Horror Element:  Political and personal pressures make everyone involved have intense drama, like a gothic novel.  Light-hearted TV fluff alternates with dire biz.  The characters within the story gain some sense of how rare and special their love is – they’re the only gaydies in the entire universe of TV fiction.  They want to be together even tho the show is cancelled.  But what do the actresses want?  Lines of fiction and reality blur, probably some kinda metaphor for death.

This is a repurpose / rewrite of an idea I had like a hojillion years ago, a few years after the IRL situation, and wasn’t originally going to be a sitcom – maybe a TV drama like Dawson’s Creek.  It was also not going to have the compressed timeline, and was going to be completely banal in nature.  Probably it’ll work better like this.

Some Nonsense:  Beduch or Bamone, a great marquis, appears in the likeness of a leopard with wings in the shape of a griffon’s.  When he takes a human form, he gives the best love of women or makes love subside.  He causes feverish love when he is involved.  He willingly reveals women’s secrets, and mocks them upon the revelation.  He makes them strip and frolic in luxurious nudity.  He gives eloquence, and has twenty legions in his dominion.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 16 – MAD SCIENTIST
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  PSYCHEDELIC/STONER

TITLE:  WE MUST KILL THE JAGUAR POPE

Premise:  In a remote canyon in the Southwestern USA, a mad scientist has retreated from civilization to establish a new religion.  The DEA has sent a young agent on a mission to kill him, in hopes of fighting the intense wave of drug use that he has inspired.

Horror Element:  Basically the plot of Apocalypse Now, but as the DEA guy gets closer to his target, reality unspools.  The scientist discovered the psychoactive properties of licking a certain type of frog and became a Tim Leary -style evangelist for the drug.  But the hallucinations have a life of their own.  By the time he reaches the scientist, he sees him as a jaguar in papal regalia, in a pueblo kingdom of twisted frogheads.

Some Nonsense:  Azo, or Oze, a great president, appears in the likeness of a leopard.  But when taking human form, he makes a person wise in all liberal arts, gives true responses of divinity and hidden things, and makes a person change into other forms.  And at the instruction of the exorcist, he makes a person insane, such that they believe they are not.  And because they have a crown on their head and a sceptre in hand, they believe themself to be a king.  The sceptre is given by the exorcist, who this king obeys until it has been held for the span of one hour.  Below Azo are twenty legions.


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SPOOKTOBER DAY 17 – CYBERPUNK
OPTIONAL CHALLENGE:  VIRTUAL REALITY

TITLE:  MAD MALWAR3 GIRLZ WILL HAVE THEIR REVENGE

Premise:  Colleen Crash loved and lost when ANи1KA and M0NiK4 v 1.0 were destroyed by the NSA, but she managed to salvage enough of their code to make new versions.  This is all well and good.  She could just take that W and retire, but she can’t shake off the need to make Tha Man hurt, for all that he’s done.

Horror Element:  The world is some kind of absurd place that could never exist, where the world’s most obvious con man pedophile and fascist thug managed to get elected with a mandate to destroy democracy itself.  I know I can’t bear to imagine it.  If that kinda shit happened I’d be hiding from the real world at all costs.  Pure imagination, babey.  Anyway, Colleen must confront evil in its purest form, where virtual reality ends and this horrible totally fictional reality begins.

Some Nonsense:  Ras, a great president, appears in the likeness of a deer.  When, however, he assumes human form, he speaks gravely.  He makes beasts languish and stagger.  He gives true responses, and the grace of friends.  He has under his dominion sixty-nine legions (nice).


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