The Hobbit Is Lost.

The Hobbit was enjoyable but not epic. The acting was great. The story, was beautiful but to have so many lines from the other films felt forced.  The "new elements" the dwarves, their fighting style and character was a good fit. The acting is top notch, Bilbo with Gollum is just great. The few songs from the book were not bad choices. Gandalf, like a mother hen, counting his fighters after battle was such a simple and touching thing to me. The worst is the 3D effect. 3D takes the movie magic away from of the film. It looked cartoonish and the music is outta place with the hyper visual experience, very Matrix meets Masterpiece Theater to me. The Hobbit needed far less of everything. 3D takes away from the "language of light and shadow" we grew to love with the others.  Avoid the 3D version all cost. It will be way more fantastic and fun to see it standard. They have broken the book into three movies. That's so wrong it hurts. It feels like we that love the genre are being milked. It was such a half hearted attempt with nothing ingenious or new mixed lovingly in with the old.  Though I think he would have been criticized for not being Peter Jackson enough in his approach, it makes me wonder what Guillermo would have done.

Excerpt 2 of my new Steampunk Novel Arms of Angels.

Once outside The Crimson Swan, the two walked together in silence, with the Caribbean night speaking in soft ways to them both. Tiny unseen frogs and other melodious creatures chirped and hummed around them. Music was now drifting in the air in low intoxicating ways. It was very late and most musicians around were too tired or too drunk to play with any fire. The mix of natural sounds, of the wine they drunk, of the soft drums and mournful guitar on the air made the moment rich. Two inebriated parrots flew in dizzying fashion when they walked past, startling them. The two laughed.  He felt her hand take his arm. It felt natural and very pleasant. He placed his hand over hers the way he had seen lovers in Paris when he visited the haunting gaslit streets. He adored that gesture. It seemed timeless as if to hold and secure such moments inside the flesh.She looked up at him, her eyes soft and full of warmth.

"I believe it is this way,"  leading him to turn down a dim corridor.

She slowed then stopped. There in the near darkness, she laid her back against the wall.She studied him a long while.

"As I've said, Sir, I am no angel."

Jovan had turned to face her when she stopped walking.
       
This time, the strange pull came again sweeping them together. She gripped the wall behind her.  Now, he came to her in a rush. He stopped with inches between them; her silken skirts just barely blocked the heat of her thighs from his. His hands fell on either side of her head holding him from falling on top of her, bracing his body from touching her. He calmed enough to trace the shape of her lips with a finger. He was careful to make contact in just the slightest way, the heat from the digit transferring to the delicate parts of her mouth. She gave his finger small, lingering kisses. A lustful laugh surged from him.
"This is some magic you have over me, girl! If we kiss, much more will happen between us right here and now. I won't even do that much in this place where I have taken wenches against this very wall. I want far more from you than a standing fuck in the dark. Ask me to your home or for you to come to my cabin. I know you want every pleasure we can discover together ... I’ve seen it in your beautiful head. Ask me now... or I walk away."
She was quiet a long while.Her answer came in a soft, voice. Her fetching face tilted up toward his. Her eyes caught the moonlight, making her seem both alluring and bewitching.

"Captain Jovan Miguel Sandoval Contreras... it would be my deepest pleasure to entertain you at my home.  Yet... you must never return there once you have come. There is always danger around me."
Touching her gingerly, he ran both his hands down from her shoulders to her elbows. Her body shuddered. His laugh was smokey. He answered  “Ves, tu eres mi angel. Even now you try to protect me.”Jovan sensed a faint movement from the darkness, but chose to ignore it. The drink and company caused him to let his guard down.
"Step away from the witch." A shadowy voice came from behind him, deeper within the alley.  Jovan glanced at the entrance as two figures blocked the exit there while another two blocked the opposite entryway.  They were trapped.The voice continued. It sounded familiar to the captain. "You have embarrassed many connected fellows, woman. This hurting is your final warning. Don't play in the games of men."
Amanda leaned into Jovan. He placed a hand behind her silken neck. Before he could speak, she informed him. “Do not worry for me, Sir. I can cover myself quite well. I am not afraid of such trash.”He smiled.  Oh, yes, this woman was made for me.
He gave a wry smile. "I had the feeling, my lady. Stay right at my back. Nothing gets behind us."Then, he addressed the voice without turning more than his head to one side. He looked at the large, darkened shape from the corner of his eye. He recognized the voice. Blake was a mercenary. He knew the man for a time, ages before he disappeared to join with thugs, then as Jovan had heard, worked his way to becoming a hired killer.

"Blake, is it?" Jovan said, shielding Amanda's body with his own.

"Captain Contreras?" Blake’s voice wavered, adding, “Don't get involved."

Jovan’s voice filled with a simmering rage. "Leave her alone, as of this moment. You know how I am, Blake. Tell those who sent you that I will bury my hands in their guts! I will rip them open like rotten fruit if they continue this harassment! "

Sternly, Blake growled, "This doesn't concern you, Spaniard.”

"Too late... for you." Jovan spun away from Amanda, drawing his cutlasses.
Amanda stepped away from the wall, turning her back to Jovan. She snatched two small rods from the back of her corset. Foot-long shafts telescoped from them and their tips ignited with a blue-white light.

Jovan heard the others running through the alley toward them. He would have enjoyed a fight if he wasn’t so concerned about his new companion.
He came at Blake low. The killer slashed his forearm just as Jovan turned sideways giving the man a deep gash to the ribs with his cutlass. The mercenary with the captain at his back, trying for a quick kill, only caused a thin flesh wound. Jovan sensed the man did not want to take him on. His true target was Amanda Collier. He was good at an instant kill in the dark, but Jovan, being a captain of a successful ship, had his own advantages. He was very skilled at hand-to-hand combat, more muscular and better fed than his opponent. Jovan used the killer’s own downward blow to trip him off his feet and caused him to fall onto his own back. The captain lifted him by his crotch and chest and hurled him like a sack of flour. He landed on one of the thugs that faced Amanda and both men hit the ground hard. Jovan  dropped to one knee, pulled a dagger from his boot and flung it, slamming it straight into the eye of one of the two men from the back entrance as they approached. The captain of the Devil Moon dove for another assassin, but the man dodged his slashes.  The killer  flit his sleeved arm as if pointing over Jovan’s shoulder to Amanda. A dagger was released from its hiding place, just passing Jovan’s ear. Amanda seemed to dance as she swung her batons with harsh, effective blows. The dagger whizzed past her from the other direction. The man she faced was the largest and came at her like a bull. His partner was passed out in a pile with Blake on top of him.  The larger brute was not expecting her to spring into the air,  just high enough to slam one of her strange buzzing rods square in his face. The blow came with the force of lightning and hammers directly to his brain. Before he collapsed to the ground unmoving, she moved fast, joining up with Jovan. Blake rose to his feet with animal-like menace in every movement.

Amanda and Jovan were now positioned back to back, facing two killers coming at them from either direction. A rough, low noise hummed through the air. Steel wheels made a strange sound on stone and dirt.  Amanda let out a horrid, near deafening scream. Jovan was sure he'd never heard a voice male or female make such a loud cry. An odd sight fell into the alley facing the opening that Jovan could see. Horseless carriages were still strange to him. It was a dark vehicle with a true carriage look to it and steam rising from its pipes instead of horses. A black figure at the wheel was all Jovan could see when the rig stopped short at the opening in apparent response to her scream. He felt her moving at his back. She said to him in a rush, "Shield your eyes, Captain! Be ready to run!”A dark laugh tore from Jovan. “Run? Really? I like your dance too much to leave now, woman!”
Blake started at them."I will blow you both to hell! You two are dead meat!"
Jovan knew without looking that Blake had both his pistols drawn.

Amanda hollered. “Goodnight, Gentlemen!”He felt her move, with a jerk, then the darkened world lit up with a loud blast and a harsh flash.
They took advantage of the blinding light, running off towards her motor coach. He heard the door open. Jovan reached for her and felt her slim waist in his hands. He got her to the door sensing the driver was also rushing her into the car.

“Go!” he commanded to her driver. The sounds of running feet came from behind. He took off into the night as the coach sped away in the opposite direction.



4.

Captain Contreras,

Thank you for your many letters and gifts. I have enjoyed your kind words and your tender expressions of affection towards me. As you well know, it is my practice to return gifts from suitors. I’m afraid it was impossible to complete my normal idiosyncrasy with your latest token due to the heat of the tropics. The chocolate was melted in the package. It was not wasted, I assure you. Melted chocolate, I have now discovered, is as delightful as when it is firm. It goes well in the end product of the steamed coffee drink I created for Armand de Argus, the owner of The Crimson Swan where we first met.I think of you often, Captain. Our connection is still strong inside me. This fire will take a very long time to die. I fear it was a grave mistake to have been so familiar and inviting with you. It places you in horrid danger. If you still feel the pulling heat that this allure between us casts from time to time, understand that it is an ability that is natural to my family, but it is a very rare thing. It is in no way a curse or witchcraft. It means that you and I would have made, in the strangest of ways, a perfect match.The truth is that danger swarms around me and will continue to kill those connected to me. You have a life that is full. You have much to lose. The savagery you faced the night we first met will grow as the frustration of the employers of those thugs. Be assured, I will not and cannot stop creating. I must help humanity. It is my family’s legacy. If I am to be hated as I try with all my soul to improve man’s lot in this world, then so be it. Yet, I’ll not see your ship burned or you wounded or worse because of me.I wished we had kissed the night we met, even in that foul alley. I would have cherished the memory. I can only imagine that we did kiss. I find in some matters, the imagination is a hollow thing.

This will be my last letter to you.

With tender regards,

Amanda Collier



My Dearest Miss Collier,


I beg your forgiveness if any of the milky substance I was so careless in wrapping stained your beautiful hands or any other part of you. I know the ravages of the Caribbean sun on the dark flesh of chocolate. In absentminded fashion, I bound the thing in a way that I can imagine, lead you to touch your fingertips to your tongue.  Knowing that you drank this last gift and enjoyed it over time, that the bitter sweetness melted in your mouth, means as much to me as if you touched my own bronzed skin.My life is filled with unimaginable danger. I am not afraid to die. Yet, from what I’ve seen of your fighting skill and the tools you have devised to end the predation of hooligans, together we would be unstoppable.  I am haunted by this gift we shared when we were together. I want nothing more than to explore it further. There is very little that surprise me as I have lived a long life at forty years. But this gift you have, your visions, have leveled me. There are so many new directions you and I can discover together if you want. As far as your mission as an inventor, if we were to unite, I would never halt your creativity as long as we took time for pleasure. These things must come in equal amounts or what is the purpose to all of our hard work? I must admit, as I grow older, I am looking forward to quieter comforts, though I could never end my connection to vast open vistas of blue and of course, to adventure.I am pleased we did not kiss the night we first met. It is not always possible, but a man should know when faced with quality, there would be more to lose in being impulsive.I feel our connection in the damnedest moments. The worst are near evening, yet I know how to end this burning. I am sure the solution would be satisfying for us both, however you continue to refuse my company. Though it may take time, I am certain we shall find the comfort we both need. You will discover it is not so easy to dissuade me from seeing you again, especially when the object of my affection has almost come to terrible harm before my very eyes.


We shall meet again, my angel.


Captain Jovan Miguel Sandoval ContrerasCommander of the Devil Moon

From my new Steampunk novel Arms of Angels

An excerpt from my new Romantic Steampunk story Arms of Angels... 

Soon, Jovan was by himself.

He took in the motion of the Crimson Swan at its peak.  Lusty music, giddy banter and people flooded it as the night continued. Dawn was several hours away. He placed his plumed hat on his head and eased back in his chair satisfied with the weight of the gold pieces in the pouch he kept close to his chest. He casually watched as Armand disappeared to a darkened nook at the farthest end from everything. Jovan saw only the kiss he delivered to a smooth, pale hand. It rose up to his lips from the end of an equally enticing arm then, it slipped out of sight.

He wondered if the legs attached to that body were just as graceful.

When Armand came back to his table with more rum, Jovan covered his hand over his empty

cup. ”The delicious looking arm that you just attended, what is she drinking?”

“Captain? Oh... it would not be to your taste.”

“What... is she... drinking?”

“It’s a strong but delicate wine. It is a high price.” Armand answered with a hint of snobbery.

“I will have a bottle.”

Stunned, Armand nodded. “As you wish, Captain.”

He brought the bottle to the Captain then opened it. “Let it breathe a moment.” Then, he rushed off to another table across the crowded room.

Jovan waited. He watched her hand rise and fall until he estimated her glass was half empty. He had a strong stomach for most drink but preferred the finest rum or spirits the islands had to offer. He snatched up the open bottle, poured a bit into his own glass and drank it down. He was surprised. It was a world away from the taste of his liqueur. It was succulent and strange, but not weak as he suspected it would be. The warmth of it hit his gut and the sensation comforted him.

He devised a plan. With the open bottle in hand, he made his way through the dancing mass of bodies to her table.

Now Armand, let's see who you have been hiding.


3.

“Lady, more wine?”
She didn’t look up when he spoke. She gave a curt nod. Jovan took his time in pouring.
He had just seconds to take her in. His senses told him she was no high priced whore. This one had true sophistication in her movements and in her mode of dress. Her oval face was glistening pale with lush, ebony colored hair, piled and pinned back. Silken wisps strayed from the bunch framing her features in a youthful fashion. Her face nestled in the darkness of her hair was like a glimpse of the moon on a cloudless night.  A plum colored bodice detailed with black lace and fine, embroidered roses held her breast snug. She was firm but curvy in the proper places. 
“You are not the regular help here.” Her low voice was breathy. It surprised him. She had the sound of a fuller, stronger bodied woman.
“How could you know such things, my lady?” He kept his own voice in a more subtle register, so as not to put any alarm in her if he could. He desired to plant a kiss on her shoulders as they were bare as naked thighs.
Her scent was a delicate floral mixture that was both bright and clean. Well-to-do whores were known to bathe with lush musk or overpowering flowers. To his surprise, she leaned closer to him, as he poured her drink. He realized she was inhaling his scent as well. Her manner of dress was a bit sensual for a woman of her obvious higher class, but appropriate for nights in the tropics. He admired her pale breast, strapped in and held just tight enough to swell over the top of the lace like finery.
 “You smell of the sea. Anyone who works at these places smells of fatty old meat, or rum, or soap, but not enough to cleanse the body. “
Her comment brought a broad smile to his face.  Perceptive and beautiful? Such a rarity in the women around here. She must be new.  “You are right, beauty. I am of the sea.”
Her body tensed almost imperceptibly. She eased back into her seat. One of her slender hands slid under the table. His own instinct told him she was keeping a knife or some other defensive item tucked away.
Without further hesitation, he introduced himself. "I am Captain Jovan Miguel Sandoval Contreras--"
“Commander of the Devil Moon?” she questioned.
Jovan nodded. “Yes, that is my girl. You know of her?”
Her body shifted slightly to a more protective posture. He sensed whatever it was that she carried was now in her hand.
He had no clue but his interest was nearing its peak. This one was a true fighter. How is that even possible?
Her sloe, pale eyes gleamed like pearls when she glanced up at him. He hoped he'd made a good visual impression.
He noted a clear hint of interest in the way she looked at him now.
She continued, “I am being rude.  My name is Amanda... Amanda Collier."  She extended her free hand. Jovan took it. It was both delicate and strong.
He laughed in utter surprise. “So you are the one that is making my advisor half mad!”
She answered dryly. “Alan Lancer.”
“Yes! He is in fits!” In a sweeping gesture, he removed his hat then added, “It is a pleasure to meet one so talented.”  Is this what a man of some breading and stature thinks of as "mildly attractive?" Has he lost his damn mind?
His thumb rubbed the top of her hand before he planted his lips in the same spot. He felt her body ease. Still, her hidden limb had yet to reappear.
He heard the owner of The Crimson Swan   stirring behind him.
“Evadez-vous d’elle!” He spilled out words, slathered in his French Accent.  “I’m so very, very sorry, Madame! My deepest apologies, I didn’t know the captain was here being a bother to you."
At that moment, Jovan looked deep into her eyes.  They were large, startling and pale blue in color, with lashes that cast mysterious shadows. She drew her hand back from his kiss and placed it around her glass.
It was then that something subtle but distinct, gripped his mind.
For an instant, he swayed as if he had drank more than he had. It was the feeling of a wave sweeping him off his balance. A twinge of fear hit him. What the hell? he almost said aloud. He felt disarmed and odd, almost vulnerable.
Everything went still. He heard nothing around himself. 
His sudden alarm quieted in him and pleasure arose in its place. He wanted only the quiet he felt coming from behind those eyes of hers. It was as if he had worked in the hottest sun all day and she was a lake of cool, soothing calm. Locked with her gaze, he was sure that the cause of this originated from within her.  He felt afloat. He realized to his utter amazement, he had fallen into some part of her mind. There was no doubt in him. There was no more panic. He felt he could have pulled away but this thing, this...being inside her, thrilled him in ways he could not have imagined. A powerful need to go even deeper into her swept him. He wanted it just like he desired the contented comfort of swimming in mountain pools of crystalline water.
Her slender brows raised as her pupils opened wide. She had the look of surprise with the innocence of a child. He felt a sudden blast of excitement and confusion from her. The feelings raced through him in delicious ways. Her bow lips parted shaping a near perfect "O" as her hidden hand returned to the table. She'd felt the sudden mystical thing that passed between them. It had been only seconds.
Surprise came again as he sensed her push him out of her mind. 
"No." The word was clear to him but not spoken. He felt her ease him away and back into his body as if not to shock him further. He was inside himself again.
For a few moments, he was speechless.
Armand was still gushing apologies. Jovan raised his hand in a quick silencing gesture.  His voice felt distant and strange. He said, without looking at him, “Armand, you have never gotten on my bad side. Don’t do it now. No eres suficientemente hombre para recibir la paliza que te daría esta noche. You are not man enough to take the beating I would give you tonight.” Armand’s effeminate voice grew low and dark. He answered Jovan without a waver in his tone. “Captain, I will not have to beat you. I have hulking monsters I pay very well to throw you the fuck out of here, if I must. Don’t make me call them. Leave the Lady be!"
“Sir... Armand... he is no bother to me.” Amanda said in a hushed tone.
In an instant, Armand stopped his threats. "My apologies, Madame. Can... can I interest you in a special plate?"
“Aye...” she said in a more sultry voice, not looking away from Contreras.
She added, “Would you join me for dinner, Captain? Armand always prepares something unique for special occasions.”
For a moment, every nerve in Jovan’s body sparked. He bowed his head. It was almost hard for him to talk to her now. He so wanted that sensation to return and sweep him away.
He found his voice. “If... you wish. My business dealing for this night is done. It would be an honor. Won’t... your companion mind?”
“Companion?”
“Yes... A fine woman like you must be here with someone. Please, find no offense in how I say this but ... any ass that should bring you to such a hovel and not make it his business to guard you at every moment is beyond my comprehension.” He took the seat opposite hers, placing his hat beside him. He made sure he kept both of his hands on the table for her to see.
She lowered her head but not her eyes.  They were almost unblinking. Now, a touch of humor softened them. Her lashes were dark and very long. She laughed a little, “I am here of my own accord, Captain. No one will be meeting me, except my driver at a later time.”
He opened his mouth, stunned.
She must be joking! She maybe able to fight but this is Port Royal! Some drunken group of bastards would devour her like ripe fruit and leave her for dead in a darken corner! Someone must be here protecting such a marvelous creature!
He started to speak, but she raised a hand.
With a soft smile she began again, “We inventors are a curious lot. We must be both adventurous and cautious in our work. I am that way in my life. I go where I choose to go, with or without a male beside me, yet I have my own protective systems in place.”
Jovan smirked. “Funny, you say that about inventors. My man has become a recluse. He doesn’t go on adventures the same way you seem to suggest is a quality of your kind.”
She nodded. “Alan Lancer is one of many men who doesn’t know when enough is enough. He is a thorn in my side, sir.“

Nigia Imagines...: When The Lights Came On After Sandy

Nigia Imagines...: When The Lights Came On After Sandy: I wrote this last night when the lights came on in The Lower East Side.  "Walking from 210 Stanton to 1st Ave and 6th street. Its bitter c...

When The Lights Came On After Sandy

I wrote this last night when the lights came on in The Lower East Side. 

"Walking from 210 Stanton to 1st Ave and 6th street. Its bitter cold tonight. Some folks are blasting music like James Brown out their windows. But its Friday night here. This place is still very dead. Everyone is worn out. A few bars are at half full. People are walking their dogs and praising them for not being afraid now that the lights are on. I didn't realize that dogs can be afraid of the dark. 
Heading home now. Thinking I'd hit the Red Hook and Volunteer on Saturday or Sunday, then again, maybe not. My place is a wreck and I've got to work on my novel before work on Monday. But the cold is reminding me that there are folks and kids freezing their asses off or are miserable in shitty shelters all over the city. I'll help out again very soon.
I've got to say, it's so good to have street lights and stores lit again in a place that is usually so alive."


After I wrote this on my IPhone, I took the 15 bus to 34th. 28th street to 34th streets was still without power. It was dark and creepy even with traffic flowing.  The Empire State Building was lit. That was very nice. I loved seeing guys with a headlamp strapped to their foreheads. Some  walked arm in arm with a girl to try enjoy the night and see what buildings had generators to charge a phone. After three long blocks, I jumped on a bus going to 42nd Grand Central Station. It is super lit over there and near normal. The bus lines for downtown were massive but some of those people will be very happy to have power when they get home.

It's a strange time here. We are so very happy to have the simplest things go right. 

Power to the People.

Oh, and below is a link to why I feel the damned NYC Marathon mattered NOT this year. 
If the link dose not work, Google "Queens residents arm themselves in post-storm blackout from looters" via The Daily News.

http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/queens/queens-residents-arm-looters-article-1.1196031

Nigia Imagines...: About The Flow of Creativity...

Nigia Imagines...: About The Flow of Creativity...: Blessed are the creative. That we may endure tough times and other peoples bullshit with grace, humor or with loads of sarcasm. Blessed ar...

About The Flow of Creativity...

Blessed are the creative.
That we may endure tough times and other peoples bullshit with grace, humor or with loads of sarcasm. Blessed are we that use strife to create wild and thoughtful art, harsh poetry and the like while staying ourselves. At least, you know who you are facing.  May the Muse of Creative Juices flow to all children and never be diverted by adults bent on their child becoming more socially acceptable or filthy rich and tasteless.
Creative places around the world are struct with sudden disasters or are destroyed but thankfully, such places of art and thought are transient as its people. Nomads are we Creative Creatures. We are in search of a home where eats are cheap and booze is plentiful, where we can meet someone and love them hard and live well while making art and writing books. NYC was that. What it will become after the terrorist attack, budget cuts, black outs, super high rents,  The Great Recession, and now Hurricane/noreaster Sandy... well, its anyones guess.
There is Portland Oregon but the verve I'm used to could not be possibly there. Still, I'll have to check it out. It's always good when cash runs flush, to check out a place to live.  An artistic type, needs a place not just for existing to squeeze out babies then, grow old and complain a lot only to become worm food. Though, it is a must to have some stability but not become stagnant. I'd like to make connections in places like San Fran, Edinburgh Scotland, Australia or Portland but NYC must always have a creative pulse.
I was born in NYC and raised here so I know it is integral to the country. So, like many other poets,  writers and the like, I'd want to deposit bright drops of molten art, novels and poetry in enclaves of friends, in some art gallery or with family that stay put. As artist, some of us  keep apartments to rent filled with paint, easels and art books. Or, we have a bed and a drafting table at our Mom's, or a couch and kitchen table to rest our laptop at an ex lover/good friends' place to finish our novels. We do this in a city that allowed us to be ourselves, hoping to keep a connection. Artsy types are also blessed 'cause we know that all trends and disasters, wars and strife are pretty much cyclical. Creativity is a river and it may flow again in the place we just left. We have to follow it and live along its shores.

It's time for coffee and to do some writing. I got a book to finish.