Podcasts about faerieland

Escapism is bad, but escape can be very good. Father Fessio, Joseph Pearce, and Vivian Dudro parse the “Ethics of Faerieland” in G.K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy.Support the show

Welcome back to Untold Legends - season 3. This podcast serves as a companion to our series of anthologies. Season 1: Vampires. Season 2: mermaids. This season it's all about FAERIES. In episode 1, Natalie and Zoraida reintroduce themselves and discuss their short stories in the collection, when they first discovered faeries, and the process of making the anthology itself! Stay tuned at the end of the episode for an exclusive pre-order campaign for FAERIES NEVER LIE, available September 24, 2024 wherever books are sold. *explicit label for the occasional F*bomb*

My guest for this episode is Jeremy Garner; author of eleven books on faeries, magic and psychic development, creator of several courses, musician, teacher and Traveller of the Hidden Realms.  Jeremy brings information and creations to this world from other dimensions and has been teaching how to connect with the Faerie Realms since 2015.  You will be mind-blown by this wonderful share!We discuss a runic symbol, which  is a doorway into Faerie Land.  He has written about this rune and his travels in Faerie Land in his books - "Faerie Magic" and his Elemental Volumes of "Fire", "Air", "Water", and "Earth" - together which record a first-hand account of a 40-Day Journey through the Faerie Worlds.  Jeremy subsequently discovered ‘The Map of Faerieland' Maps (thelostenchanters.com) created by Bernard Sleigh in the nineteenth century.  And that the places and beings on the map match with those that he and I have encountered on our separate forays into the faerie realm!Also we talk talismans and bringing them back from faerie into our realm, plus Jeremy's thoughts on the Wollaton Gnomes case.   I recommend Jeremy's free courses the "Beginner's Guide to Faerieland”  & 12-Day Course on ClairvoyanceThank you for listening and remember to keep you heart open and be the change... Love Claire xJeremy's Links:Thank you to Jeremy for allowing me to use his track 'The Fairy Ring' in this episode.www.lostenchanters.comJeremy's YT channel Books by Jeremy"Book of Hermes - Vol. I", "Guide to Faerieland" Faerie Land Mapwww.thelostenchanters.com/maps/Title Music: Oxygen by Third Girl from the Left:www.thirdgirlfromtheleft.bandcamp.com/album/oxygen-e-pYouTube channel - https://youtu.be/smiBuiAWFzY Support the Podcast on my Faery Whisperer Buy Me A Coffee Page See Show Notes on my podcast blog www.twitter.com/FaeryWhispering Faery Whispering Facebook group The Faery Whisperer YouTube Channel

Double Feature Week! Along with Episode 17: Joss, I'm releasing this episode with Liam and Nic. I met these two ethereal creatures in the woods of Faerieland. I've never laughed so much in my life spending a camping week together surrounding by nature, spirits, and magic. CW: addiction, drug use Support this podcast

Kat & Cass discuss the first book in The Folk of the Air Trilogy: The Cruel Prince by Holly Black. Listen to Kat and Cass struggle to pronounce virtually every name in this book. Discuss the finer details of Cardan's tail and discover the mental gymnastics that Cass performed to understand the political plot. Find out what Kat and Cass would hate to leave behind if they were taken away to Faerieland. Finally, grab your salt and get ready to be serenaded. Tune in next week for the second book of The Folk of the Air Trilogy: The Wicked King. Thanks for listening! We'd love to hear from you! Please consider leaving a review and subscribing. Website: www.twobookbitches.com Email: twobookb.tches@gmail.com Twitter: @2bookbitchespod Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/117056291-kat-cass TikTok: @twobookbitchespodcast Disclaimer: Spoilers ahead & sometimes we like to swear and talk about raunchy things. Check it out: A lovely listener, Kay, sent us some Crescent City Fanfic; enjoy! (18+) https://archiveofourown.org/works/25912318 https://archiveofourown.org/works/23211871 https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569438 https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863192 https://archiveofourown.org/works/23362225 https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167408

Original Story : https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/fbl2eq/oc_fantasy_6_the_sheriff_of_faerieland_part_1/ https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/fbtxsw/oc_fantasy_6_the_sheriff_of_faerieland_part_2/ https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/fbyodi/oc_fantasy_6_the_sheriff_of_faerieland_part/ If You enjoyed consider leaving a Tip : https://www.paypal.me/agrosquerril OR Patreon : https://www.patreon.com/agrosquerrils Greetings Ladies and Mentlegents and welcome to my channel where I like to make LEGAL Audiobooks of various types from web novels and short stories. If you are new to the channel then click on the information icon for the entire playlist to help get you up to current faster. This Oneshot was Taken from the HFY subreddit which hosts mostly Sci-Fi based short stories called oneshots and series. As Always i hope you enjoy and can find some content on my channel you like. Feel free to recommend a series or a story and i will have a look into it. EVERYTHING WILL BE BACKED UP TO SoundCloud Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/agro-squerrils Email : Agrosquerrils@gmail.com Twitter : https://twitter.com/agrosquerrils Streamlabs : https://streamlabs.com/agrosquerrils Discord : https://discord.gg/XeMwEqX All Donation are welcome and much appreciated. Thumbnail Background taken from https://wallpapersafari.com Thank you all for listening and your support. #narration #webnovel #reddit-hfy #hfy #reddit #scifi #sci-fi #shortstories #mini-webseries

Original Story : www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/el…the_beastmasters/ If You enjoyed consider leaving a Tip : www.paypal.me/agrosquerril OR Patreon : www.patreon.com/agrosquerrils Hi All here is another narration of one stories from HFY from Reddit. I hope that you enjoy. youtube : youtube.com/c/agrosquerrils Email : Agrosquerrils@gmail.com Twitter : twitter.com/agrosquerrils All Donation are welcome and much appreciated. Thank you all for listening and your support. #narration #webnovel #reddit-hfy #hfy #reddit #scifi #sci-fi #shortstories #mini-webseries

Here’s the second half of my two part interview with authors, C. S. E. Cooney and Carlos Hernandez!In my last post for my paid subscribers, I talked about the common advice that creative people should choose one niche in which to specialize. In the first part of this interview, we explored how ignoring that advice can actually help creativity grow stronger, but in this second part we’re diving into the question of how to narrow your focus in order to finish projects, even when they’re really hard and you feel stuck. Image Description: Sal and Gabi Break the Universe and The Assimilated Cuban’s Guide to Quantum Santeria by Carlos Hernandez and Jack O’ the Hills, How to Flirt in Faerieland and Other Wild Rhymes, Bone Swans, and Desdemona and the Deep by C. S. E. Cooney. Carlos’s Sal and Gabi Break the Universe won the Pura Belpré Medal for Latinx creators whose work portrays Latinx experiences well for young readers! Carlos also has a story in The Mythic Dream, an anthology edited by Navah Wolfe and Dominik Parisien. You can find Carlos on Twitter as @WriteTeachPlay.Claire’s Bone Swans won the World Fantasy Award for Best Collection! Her novella, Desdemona and the Deep is wonderful, too, and I am not just saying that because the title character was named after my late cat, Desdemona (but she really was! She is even called Desdemonster sometimes, which we also called my cat!) Claire has also narrated over 100 audiobooks, and has an alter ego as a rock star named Brimstone Rhine. Both of them will be at Boskone in February in Boston, Massachusetts, and so will I! In fact, we’ll all be performing together in one of Claire’s Brimstone Rhine concerts, AND we’ll be reading excerpts of our work together. I’ll post my full Boskone schedule soon, so you’ll know where to find us!Technical note: If you are reading these show notes in email or on the web, you don’t have to listen in a web browser! You can subscribe to this podcast in the podcatcher of your choice by clicking the “Listen in podcast app” link at the top of this message. It will send you an email, which will have a button in it that you can click while viewing the email on your phone, and that will generate a private RSS feed just for you. It will give you options to add it to one of several podcast apps by clicking a link, or to copy the RSS feed and add it to the podcast app you use. Once you add this feed to your app, future episodes should download to your phone automatically if you choose to autorefresh the feed. If you are a paid subscriber, you can use your private feed for both the paid and free episodes. This is a public episode. Get access to private episodes at omgjulia.substack.com/subscribe

Here’s part one of a two part interview with authors, C. S. E. Cooney and Carlos Hernandez!Claire and Carlos are both multi-talented creative powerhouses. Here’s a picture of some of their books:Image Description: Sal and Gabi Break the Universe and The Assimilated Cuban’s Guide to Quantum Santeria by Carlos Hernandez and Jack O’ the Hills, How to Flirt in Faerieland and Other Wild Rhymes, Bone Swans, and Desdemona and the Deep by C. S. E. Cooney. Carlos’s Sal and Gabi Break the Universe just won the Pura Belpré Medal for Latinx creators whose work portrays Latinx experiences well for young readers! And when I say he just won this award, I mean this happened literally yesterday at the American Library Association’s Midwinter conference in Philadelphia. How exciting! In 2016 Claire’s Bone Swans won the World Fantasy Award for Best Collection. But they don’t JUST write books! Both of them are poets, musicians, screenwriters, game writers, and more! Claire has also narrated over 100 audiobooks, and has an alter ego as a rock star named Brimstone Rhine. In my last post for my paid subscribers, I talked about the common advice that creative people should choose one niche in which to specialize. In this interview, we’re exploring just how many grains of salt you can take that advice with. Technical note: If you are reading these show notes in email or on the web, you don’t have to listen in a web browser! You can subscribe to this podcast in the podcatcher of your choice by clicking the “Listen in podcast app” link at the top of this message. It will send you an email, which will have a button in it that you can click while viewing the email on your phone, and that will generate a private RSS feed just for you. It will give you options to add it to one of several podcast apps by clicking a link, or to copy the RSS feed and add it to the podcast app you use. Once you add this feed to your app, future episodes should download to your phone automatically if you choose to autorefresh the feed. If you are a paid subscriber, you can use your private feed for both the paid and free episodes. This is a public episode. Get access to private episodes at omgjulia.substack.com/subscribe

Once upon a time, I was a Harpy, who fell in love with the Sun and wished to eat her heart...Tales from When I Lived in Faerieland is written and directed by O. Captain. You can find them on twitter @nemoralcultrix, and the show @faerielandtales.If you like our content, consider buying us a coffee.Find out more at https://faerietales.pinecast.co

Raders by Nelson Stanley   They called themselves the Raders, and if you didn’t know, you’d swear that they were waiting for something: a bunch of boyed-up cookers, second-string hot hatches and shopping trollies adorned with bazzing body-kits parked down at the overcliff again, throttles blipping in time to the breakbeats. Throaty roar from aftermarket back-boxes you could shove your fist up, throb of the bass counter-pointed by an occasional crack as a cheap six-by-nine gave up the ghost. Occasionally a sub overheated, leaving nothing but ear-splitting midrange and treble howling into the gale blowing rain off the sea. Mya had pushed half a pill into Maggie’s hand when the red XR2 picked her up outside the all-night Turkish takeaway, and Maggie regretted dropping it already, though at first she’d thought the high percentage of whizz in it might lend her enough chemical bravery to finally say what she wanted. Now her eyes rolled in her head and the rush made it difficult to speak. Sparks came off the edges of the headlights splitting the mizzle outside. Her nervous system uncoiled and re-knitted itself, reducing her to a warm soup through which the uppers fizzed and popped.     [Full story after the cut.] Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 72 for June 10, 2019. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing this story with you. Today we have a GlitterShip original, which starts off a new issue that you can pick up at GlitterShip.com/buy, on Gumroad at gum.co/gship08, or on Amazon, Nook, Kobo, and other ebook retailers. If you’ve been waiting to pick up your copy of the Tiptree Award Honor Listed book, GlitterShip Year Two, there’s a great deal going on for Pride over at StoryBundle. GlitterShip Year Two is part of a Pride month LGBTQ fantasy fiction bundle. StoryBundle is a pay-what-you-want bundle site. For $5 or more, you can get four great books, and for $15 or more, you’ll get an additional five books, including GlitterShip Year Two, and a story game. That comes to as little as $1.50 per book or game. The StoryBundle also offers an option to give 10% of your purchase amount to charity. The charity for this bundle is Rainbow Railroad, a charity that helps queer folks get to a safe place if their country is no longer safe for them. http://www.storybundle.com/pride Our story today is “Raders” by Nelson Stanley. Before we get to that, though, here is our poem, “Vampiric Tendencies in the Year 4500” by Renee Christopher. Renee Christopher is an SFF writer and poet currently making it through her last Iowa winter. Noble / Gas has nominated her poetry for a Pushcart, and her first short story can be found in Fireside Fiction. Follow her on Twitter @reneesunok or on Mastodon @sunok@wandering.shop   Vampiric Tendencies in the Year 4500 By Renee Christopher   Moon-sewn mothgirls clot          near light, their search for glow similar to mine. The door left          ajar          allowed us both alternate methods for creation creatures merged          with cosmic teeth. Stars managed to adapt          find those who, thick as molasses, gleamed upon the trellis          of a new future. But what I look for flutters past a stand of deer          —bright and wingless, with champagne fingers and summer tongues. At least, the searing          reminds me of a time when the sun burned hot and fast.          Now the blood  I need drips neon from above, filters through          decadent soil in a system unknown. In this quest for light          source, I am not alone.   Nelson Stanley works in an academic library in the UK. His stories have been published recently in places like The Dark Magazine, the Lethe Press anthology THCock, Black Dandy, The Gallery of Curiosities, The Sockdolager, and Tough Crime. One of his stories was included in the British Fantasy Award-winning anthology Extended Play.   Raders by Nelson Stanley   They called themselves the Raders, and if you didn’t know, you’d swear that they were waiting for something: a bunch of boyed-up cookers, second-string hot hatches and shopping trollies adorned with bazzing body-kits parked down at the overcliff again, throttles blipping in time to the breakbeats. Throaty roar from aftermarket back-boxes you could shove your fist up, throb of the bass counter-pointed by an occasional crack as a cheap six-by-nine gave up the ghost. Occasionally a sub overheated, leaving nothing but ear-splitting midrange and treble howling into the gale blowing rain off the sea. Mya had pushed half a pill into Maggie’s hand when the red XR2 picked her up outside the all-night Turkish takeaway, and Maggie regretted dropping it already, though at first she’d thought the high percentage of whizz in it might lend her enough chemical bravery to finally say what she wanted. Now her eyes rolled in her head and the rush made it difficult to speak. Sparks came off the edges of the headlights splitting the mizzle outside. Her nervous system uncoiled and re-knitted itself, reducing her to a warm soup through which the uppers fizzed and popped. Waves thrashed at the rocks below the edge of the cliff. An occasional dark shape—a seagull, perhaps, blown off-course and away from the bins—fluttered into the edges of the headlights’ glare and then reeled away into the greater darkness. Hydro and tobacco exhaust vented through half-opened drivers’ windows and flavored the edges of the sooty exhaust smoke from a dozen engines running too rich. One or other spun dustbin-lid size alloys on the wet, loose tarmac with an angry howl, holding it on the handbrake, then—just when you might think that a clutch was about to melt—drop it hard so that fat low-profiles tramped up into the suspension turrets as the tires found purchase, slewing away to nail it down the narrow cliff road, returning from its circuit a few minutes later to rejoin the loose congregation in the car park. “See. What I mean is, we could be like... See? We don’t have to like... What I mean...” Maggie trailed off, frustrated not so much, perhaps, by her inability to articulate her emotions than by the inefficiency of talking as a medium for expression itself. Why couldn’t she just touch Mya, and have her know exactly what she meant? How she felt? She chewed savagely upon the inside of her bottom lip and fervently wished she’d brought some chewing gum, breath fast through her nose. She started to roll a ciggie, but her hands were shaking and tobacco and papers seemed alive in her hands. In the driver’s seat, Mya was doing her lippy in the rear-view, an action made more difficult by the way she was surfing the breakbeats pulsing from the stereo, pausing occasionally to puff on the spliff hanging out of the other side of her mouth. With a sigh that seemed practiced she twisted her lippy shut and dropped it amongst the scree of empty Embassy No.1 packets, roached Rizla cartons, baggies and half-crushed tins of cheap cider littering the dashboard. “Look,” she said, placing both hands on the steering wheel, as if what she had to say required anchoring herself more firmly to the car, “With you now it’s all ‘What I want’ and ‘What I think is’ and it just... I knew it’d get like this. Knew it. What you don’ get is, I don’t care. It’s over, girl. Let go.” Chemicals rushed into Maggie’s head like someone filling up a bath. She was frantically rubbing a rolling paper flat between her thumbs, gaze pinned to the wrinkled rectangle as if somewhere upon it was written a way out of this, a way to get Mya back. “I suppose I do need you,” Mya went on, leaning back in the Recaro and idly picking at a blim-hole in the upholstery while puffing luxuriantly on her smoke. “But not the way you need me. I can’t be the thing you want, y’know? It was fun, while it lasted, but is what it is, girl.” She glanced over at Maggie. “But you can still help, if you like.” Maggie—lorn and reeling from the chemicals thudding through her central cortex—tried to answer, but all that came out was a small hiccuping yelp. She nodded frantically. “Jesus fuck,” Mya said, and shoved the j toward her passenger. “D’you wan’ some of that?” she said, and it seemed to Maggie that there was love in the gesture, in Mya’s voice, real love, an outpouring of care and concern, and even if it wasn’t what Maggie wanted—that surging roil in her groin, the brimming of her heart that accompanied her memories of the two of them twined together in Mya’s bed, under the Congo Natty poster, the way Mya held her hand in public once or twice, walking back through the rain and the ghost-haunted dawn, hoodies pulled up against the wind—then, still, it unlocked such a river of sweet-flowing sadness inside Maggie that she thought she might melt, right there in the XR2, melt outward in a great silent wave of warmth that blossomed from some secret core inside her body and pulsed through her, turning her flesh to something at once liquid and as evanescent as smoke. “Jesus fuck,” Mya said again, peering into Maggie’s face. “If you vom all on my Recaros I swear down I will kick you out right here, get me?”, but Maggie knew she wouldn’t, knew she wouldn’t do that, and she was right.   Outside, other cars were gathering, as if drawn by the bass or the lights, as if boyed-up hatches were sad deep-sea creatures, huddling together for mutual warmth around some abyssal vent. Inside, in the thick dusty warmth blowing out of the demister, Maggie shucked off her hoodie and T-shirt, down to her bra, worming her shoulder blades into the fabric of the passenger seat. Though she rolled her eyes at this, Mya was at least calmer now that Maggie had smoked herself into a place of happy burbling. She cranked down the window as a battered G1 CRX pulled up, fishtank lights glowing underneath the sills and an acre of filler across its back three-quarter panel as if it suffered the ravages of some terrible disease. The relentless, tinny grinding of mid-period Sick of it All pounding from the CRX met the XR2’s sweetly dubbing Jungle, twisted in the rain into a horrifying new hybrid. The boy in the CRX, baseball cap pulled down low, leaned out the window and put his hand out for a fistbump, got left hanging, pulled it in reluctantly and settled further down into his Parka. “It’s nearly time,” Mya said to him. He sniffed. “Aye.” “You gonna lead?” He shrugged, somewhat restrained by his seatbelt. “Thought you were gonna. As it’s, like, your party n’that.” All around the car-park hatches were circling now, splashing through the puddles: a well-loved 205 GTI with engine mounts so shot that it kangaroo-ed on the clutch, pitching the front-end like an obsequious underling kowtowing to its superior so that the add-on plastic chin spoiler spat a spray of gravel in front of it. A cooking Sierra twin-cam done out to look like a Cossie decided to show the front-drive pretenders what they were missing out on, and started power-oversteering around the edge of the circling hatches, back end slewing dangerously close before a hefty stomp on the throttle and an armful opposite-lock sent it whirling away. Maggie, eyes rolling saucer in her head, could only see trails of light, fireworks steaming in the dark, light spidering out of itself to scrawl the night, after-images licking at the edges of the rain. “Where we going?” she said, struggling upright in the seat, pulse thrumming up through her, a solid lump in her throat. “We’re gonna take a trip to Faerieland,” Mya said as she took the XR2 out of the carpark, the Raders peeling off after her, each trailing a respectable distance behind the other, jostling for position down the narrow slip road. “The land of the dead, the shining place on the hill where the Good Stuff comes from, where they take you when it’s all over.” Maggie watched the empty wet streets go past, everything wet and filthy, the streetlamps chrysanthemum bursts of light. The Raders peeled off and followed one-by-one in a continuous rising and falling of fat aftermarket tailpipes and tinny drum’n’bass, punctuated occasionally by the telltale clunk-woosh of a dump valve some joker had bolted on to a naturally-aspirated Golf. They snaked down the road leading from the overcliff, overly-fat radials whispering across the wet tarmac then ka-thumping awkwardly as they bottomed out on the potholes because they’d lowered their suspension by cutting their coil springs with an angle grinder. “Think on,” said Mya, checking her reflection in the rear-view, “Think, Maggie. A place—well, not quite a place—somewhere they talk in the high-pitched whistle of bats, words you hear not with your ears but something lodged in the back of your brain. They got stuff there, one tiny hit’ll burn through your soul, let you touch the face of God and strip away your skin, make you forget all the shit life drops in your lap.” Beyond the glass, the neon frontage on dingy shops and cheap bars spread and blurred in firework streaks. Maggie convulsed in her seatbelt, clawing at the tensioner as it ratcheted too-tightly around her stomach. The XR2 lurched over a speed-bump outside Syndicate—the townie girls lined up on the wet pavement clutching their purses, tugging ineffectually at two inches’ of skirt as the rain blew in sideways from the seafront, the young boys with too much hair product reeking of cheap body-spray and grabbing their crotches as they shotgunned cans of lager—and for a second Maggie thought she might actually be sick, but luckily it passed. “A place where you never have to think,” said Mya, idly flicking ash off the end of her j as she took to the wrong side of the road to pass a dawdling hatchback—big swoosh of locked brakes against wet tarmac, cacophony of horns blaring into the night—“Where you never get hungry, or sad, or old.” Maggie opened her mouth to speak, but Mya chose that moment to take the inside, getting both nearside wheels up on the curb as she passed a recovery lorry turning on to the main road, orange spinning light sending weird tiger stripes strobing across the interior of the XR2. As Mya straightened up, fighting the bit of aquaplane as she brought it level, she continued: “There was this girl, see. She was just like any other. Stupid but not free. She met another girl, and fell in love. The sex was fucking epic—” and at this Maggie gave a low moan—“for starters, but wasn’t just meat-meet, wasn’t just something in the cunt or the brain or the blood. This other girl showed the first one things she’d never seen. A new way of looking at the world—” Traffic lights bloomed like fireworks through the rain-swept windscreen as Mya, faced with the inconvenience of a stop signal, took a shortcut through the carpark of a pub, narrowly missing someone’s Transit pulling out of a space then nipping back into the snarl of traffic, agonised howls of horns behind them like the baying of something monstrous. “A new pair of eyes.” Maggie nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “The world seemed changed,” Mya went on. “Everything was magic.” The speed of their passage smeared the neon of a kebab shop across the night, and Maggie, her hand up to wave away a stray strand of hair that she swore was scuttling across her face like a spider, was left staring, open-mouthed, soul tightening in her throat as it sought to escape the skin, astonished at the colored lights crawling and twisting across her skin. “She showed her things she never dreamed existed, never dreamed could exist. Then, her lover told this girl that she couldn’t have her, that it wasn’t to be. Where her lover came from, she said, that place was different to ours, and she had to go back there. She came from far away, from a place out beyond the days of working shit jobs for the man and burning up your nights in Rizlas and watching them drift,” Mya said, exhaling a long cloud of dope smoke. As it hit the windscreen and flattened out Maggie watched the coils interpolate and shiver in a slow-motion swirl, and the spirals twisted and convulsed and in the whirl there were bodies churning, moving against each other in a liquid tumble, figures clotted together and sliding through each other and as she watched featureless heads opened empty mouths in silent screams of ecstasy and lust— Taking another big roundabout, Mya let the XR2 go sideways for shits and giggles, whoosh of tires on wet asphalt, and the stately procession of the Raders followed, each making the same playful half-wobble in the Ford’s wake, then out on the ring-road past industrial estates lit up garishly by high-powered halogens. Maggie dry-swallowed the lump in her throat, convulsed slightly, gasped out: “I think I’m gonna need another pill, if we’re going to a rave.” Mya ignored her. “This other lover, she told the girl she was in deep, that where she came from they never died, but every so often one of them had to pay a price, tithe to the Man Who Waits, the Man Who Must Be Paid, and that it was her turn to pay.” On the edge of a judder of chemicals as they sped down the pulsing freeways of her blood, Maggie found her voice: “I’d’ve loved to have gone to a rave with you. We never did, did we? There was that big one, down by the river, in the old tire factory? We never made it,” and she trailed off, the memory of that night coming back to hit her: going round someone’s house to score, the crunch of the purple-y crystals in the baggie with the smiley on it. Too greedy to wait, they’d each cut a line that glistened like finely-ground glass on the back of a CD case, huffed it back, shrieking and clapping and giggling at the burn as it dissolved their mucus membranes. They’d staggered out of the dealer’s house arm-in-arm, already giggling, bathed in the streetlamp’s orange glow, hands slipping between hoodies and jeans against the cold. Before they knew it they were fucking each other raw in an alley behind the closed-down Tesco Express, panting against the bins, colors streaming from the edges of their vision as fingers worked in the cold.   Mya’s hand dropped swiftly off the gearstick, squeezed Maggie’s knee. “Nearly there,” she whispered. Maggie was halfway to replying “No, no you fucking weren’t, with the Mollie you took ages to come, I had to go down on you, knees in a puddle, my Diesels got fucking wet through,” when she looked up, and saw. The lights of a deserted superstore glowing through the murk like the warning lights of a ship out at sea. To either side light industrial units glowered through the rain. Something that might’ve been a dog scurried through the puddles collecting on the uneven tarmac, shook itself, then squeezed through the gap in a fence and was gone. The road descended as it cut across a valley. At the top of the valley sides, brooding behind razor wire, huge dark shapes reared against the night sky. The XR2 turned up a driveway you could get an articulated lorry through, between steep banks choked with wet gorse. She pulled up in a huge open space across which the low-profiles bucked and jinked, big wheels nervous over the ruts. Ahead of them, a locked gate, skin of plate iron welded onto a framework of quarter-inch box-section, topped with barbed wire like icing on a birthday cake, stained with something that shone dark in the backwash off the streetlights, something that might’ve been oil. “Mya, babe,” said Maggie, “where the fuck are we?” The rest of the Raders, fallen behind in traffic or cut off from the XR2 by stop lights, began to wheel out of the night on to the forecourt, pulling up in a rough circle. One by one, the engines died, leaving just the reflections of their under-sill lights on the wet tarmac and their headlights cutting through the rain, deepening the shadows on the huge organic-seeming shapes sprawled up the side of the valley. From behind the ringing in her ears, Maggie thought she heard a sound far-off like bells, irregular, plangent, as if they’d taken a wrong turn and were down by the sea and could hear the ships still rolling at anchor in the wind, or when you’d gone to a free party and got mashed and passed out next to a sixteen foot high speaker and woke up with your head ringing and chiming, every sound distant and jangling for the next few days. Mya smiled, leaned back in the driver’s seat, pulled another joint from a crevice on the dash, held it by the twist-shut and shook it to level it out. “This is Faerieland, babe.” Mya, an easy smile playing about her lips, sparked up the j. Maggie, spiking on another wave off her pill, nodded, started frantically chewing out her lip. “Is this like when we—” Mya pressed a finger to her lips and the dry knuckle against Maggie’s mouth smelled of hash and tobacco and the pleasantly artificial tang of raspberry lipstick. “This is like nothing you’ve ever seen,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Now. Why don’t you unclasp your seatbelt?” Maggie fancied she could hear a sort of whistling twitter, a high-pitched oscillation at the edge of hearing, like weaponized tinnitus. The noise got under her skin, wormed its way inside her nerves, crawled along her limbs and set itself just behind her eyes, where it fluttered and beat against the inside of her head like a moth caught in a lampshade. The noise—and whatever she’d taken—made it difficult for her to think straight. She rubbed frantically at her eyes, which seemed to have dried out, and a starshell burst across her vision. “It’s nearly time,” Mya said, taking a deep hit off her j. “They’re here.” When Maggie looked again, things were moving in the darkness at the edge of the headlights, detaching themselves with a slinking motion from the huge shapes up on top of the hill, flowing through the night, drawing near to the edge of the pale circles cast by the Raders. Then—just when she thought she might be able to see what they were—edging back, staying tantalizingly out of reach. They moved on all fours. There was the suggestion of an angular, branched shape, like a four-branch exhaust manifold. A headlight found the edge of one of them for a second, but they were gone so quickly it was impossible to make anything else out other than the suggestion of wet fur, oil-slick pelt, stealthy stalking in the ebon night. “What the fuck we doing, Mya?” Mya shook her off. She held her right hand out of the car, in the rain, as if leaning to get the ticket from a tollbooth, then let it drop. The headlights of the Raders went off in a volley, and the night bloomed with afterimages that writhed violet and ultramarine and a pure, actinic cobalt that burned into Maggie’s retinas as if she’d been staring intently at the base of a MIG welder. Through or under these distortions moved other, darker shapes, suggested by the gaps between the swirling colors on the edges of the twisting light. The chittering increased, like the noise a tweeter made if you wired it in when spliffed up so that it was grounding to earth via the RCA connector. “The only way this girl’s lover could be free, was if someone could take her place.” Mya smiled at Maggie, and there was sadness in it, a sadness that wrenched Maggie so that she jerked and flopped, a spasming convulsion that took all of her strength from her and left her hanging from the seatbelt, spent and useless as a discarded condom hanging from a fence. She tried to raise her head and it sagged useless and boneless on her neck. The darkness rippled and shifted. Something was pulling itself in to existence, shapes coalescing from darkness, shapes Maggie half-recognized, tantalized as they formed then—just on the cusp of understanding—flowed into something else. Waves of prickling heat chased themselves across her, as if she was coming up again, but she was cold, bone cold, breath shallow like one nearing death, alone and lost in some icy hell. Mya slipped her own seatbelt off and stepped outside, into the hush. She opened Maggie’s door and unclipped the belt, and Maggie fell forward, body gone liquid and useless, all her bones melted into a delicious slow ooze. The kiddie from the CRX with the baseball cap appeared at her side, and together he and Mya hauled Maggie out of the seat, trainers skidding on uneven greasy concrete, half-carried and half-dragged her limp scarecrow body between them, laid her gently on the wet rough cement. A shipwreck puddled on the ground, Maggie’s eyes rolled up to the looming outlines against the clouds, and suddenly—with a burst of icy clarity like a siren cutting through your high, telling you it was time to fuck off out of the rave and head for home—she knew where she was. This, this was the place where the dead go. She could smell it, corruption, the sickly smell of ancient automotive glass gone sugary and fragile, of prehistoric hydraulic grease thickening like wax as it seeped back to the tar whence it came, fishy castor-oil tang of gone-off brake fluid and the tired dead-dinosaur ghost-smell of very old petrol, an undercurrent of spoiling, long-banned industrial pollutants, the waxy whiff of chrome-effect plastic as it expired in the wind. Immense effort, all she had, everything given to a squirm of her neck, cheek scraped by wet concrete, and she could see—how could she see? Vision finally adjusted to darkness or some passing benediction of whatever it was Mya had given her?—a makeshift board up on the slope, where someone had painted the word “FAERIELAND” in thick daubs of blue paint. Behind and above it, the huge misshapen outlines against the sky resolved themselves, trompe l’oeil turning the vast near-organic mass to cars piled atop each other in collapsing columns, sprawling aggregation of vehicular death, charnel-house of discarded bangers, piles of engines rearing against the sky like hearts piled up after some battlefield atrocity, ragged rusting wings hanging off like torn pinions of dying angels, Mcpherson strut-assemblies unbolted but left attached so that they dangled from brake lines like new appendages extruded by some automotive nightmare creature testing which shape would be best to crawl out of its pit and stalk across the land, delivering vengeance to those who’d left it here after years of faithful service, those who deserted it to rot in the polluted air and sink slowly into the mire of mud and the butchered remnants of its comrades. The place where the dead go. Faerieland. The land of the dead. And, out from that huge pile of automotive corpses, out from under the shattered sills and pent-in roofs, flowing out like poison from trailing umbilical fuel lines and ventricles of disassembled engines, from the aortas of shattered fuel injection systems, from underneath chassis twisted like paper and from cracked-open gearboxes, out from the jeweled synchromesh and delicately-splined shafts of sundered transaxles and torn-open wiring harnesses spewing copper filaments like multicolored nerves, they came. The real Raders, the OG crew. They poured into the space before the cars like oil hitting water, as their forms adjusted to the limits of their new environment. They made the stuff of the night sing across human neurons and their wake through what we call the real produced a noise like far-off carillons of many bells and a chittering like angry bats. As they came down the hill the air hummed with their presence, spat and crackled and buzzed like high-voltage lines in wet weather, like a pylon singing to itself in the rain. The scrapyard smell receded and the night filled with the evanescent, sickly-sweet smell of violets—flickering across the nose then gone!—then an overpowering burst of eglantine and woodbine, stopping up the throat like death. The steeds they rose had lashed themselves together out of the rotting pile of scrap: corrugated flanks flaking away in oxide scabs, stamping hooves fashioned from brake discs, hydraulic piping and flex from cable looms bulging like sinews at their shoulders, mismatched headlamps for the eyes, exhaust-smoke breath billowing out in clouds from fanged maws made from the teeth of gearwheels and the lobes of camshafts. Their hounds were vast and black and bayed silently at their sides, the thick ruff of their pelt giving way at the shoulder to gleaming metal that heaved and rippled like flesh along the necks that held their great steel-antlered heads aloft. Impossible, implacable, reveling in their alien exhilaration, driven by compulsions innominate and terrible, they poured out into the night, churning up the bank as they came for Maggie. She sat blinking—unbelieving—as her doom streamed down the hill toward her, heart thudding slow in her chest. The Raders watched, for a time. Then, one by one, they fired up their engines and followed Mya’s XR2, as it swept back out onto the rainy streets. END   "Raders" is copyright Nelson Stanley 2019. "Vampiric Tendencies in the Year 4500" is copyright Renee Christopher, 2019. This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library. You can support GlitterShip by checking out our Patreon at patreon.com/keffy, subscribing to our feed, leaving reviews on iTunes, or buying your own copy of the Summer 2018 issue at www.glittership.com/buy. You can also support us by picking up a free audiobook at  www.audibletrial.com/glittership. Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a reprint of "Désiré" by Megan Arkenberg.

Updated! Sorry everyone! I noticed the music was really loud in the past few recordings, Im fixing them all! In this podcast we will explore the future from 2 different timelines. One timeline explores the path we are currently on and the second timeline reveals a future where we are in line with the best […] The post Meditation:Future Progression for a Better Planet (Best Outcome) appeared first on Soul Searching Zone- Intuitive Life Caoch- Kelly T. Smith.

Updated! Sorry everyone! I noticed the music was really loud in the past few recordings, Im fixing them all! In this podcast we will explore the future from 2 different timelines. One timeline explores the path we are currently on and the second timeline reveals a future where we are in line with the best […] The post Meditation:Future Progression for a Better Planet (Best Outcome) appeared first on Soul Searching Zone- Intuitive Life Caoch- Kelly T. Smith.

Your Creative Sparks: We are ONE WITH NATURE. It is only our ego that makes us feel insignificant. Being in Nature feels like a REAL LIFE FANTASY. We know the TRUTH of existence as CHILDREN, that fantasy is a real world. Alyse did guided Faerie tours in the forest at the age of ten, and she has refused to allow society to culture the fantasy out of her. A visionary painter, much of her work is based in Nature, with a lot of hidden details and imaginative symbolism. On the tail of the Bali pilgrimage, Lobsterbird shares reflections with Alyse on the science of magic, our interconnectedness, the art of flow, and creating space for enchantment. Join us at the campfire, gazing up at the stars and upon the shores of the sacred lake. Leave us a Rating & Review!   Your Travelogue Completing the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, a 26 mile trek on ancient cobblestone steps, and getting to know Mom all over again on the trail. [2:22] Being in Nature... What is so terrifying and powerful about it? [6:13] She didn’t appreciate all of Dad’s camping as a kid. Later, she lived in a cabin in the woods in Georgia, surrounded by five acres of wild forest. Only then did Alyse realize how much she loved being in Nature. [11:25] The Georgia forest: ferns and faeries. [13:29] If the portal opens, I have the right shoes. I’m not going to be that girl wearing heels in fairyland. [15:50] Flow is being in the quantum field. Source is the soul of creativity. [18:45] PRACTICUM!: Alyse’s warm-up practice for creative flow. The way Nature weaves in and out of itself and supports itself is really magical. Science for Alyse is all about biology and the interconnectedness of all things. [24:15] We don’t leave enough space for really deep wonder. [27:35] Creativity brings people together. The act of creating together frees us from judging ourselves. [32:50] Crafting Confidence: kids making art projects, things that have an intention behind them + a gentle exploration of identity. [36:16] Being bullied and finding friends who were being their own sort of weird. [39:54] Twenty years is a long time to develop the habit of not loving yourself. [43:33] Alyse is guiding people to meet their own faery queen, connect to their own true spirit and their own magical beingness - a guide in this world and the other world. [46:43]   Links and resources: Artist, traveler, writer - exploring the world one day at a time. Connect with Alyse Longenecker (aka Kavi) at alyselongenecker@gmail.com and on Facebook. Request your free copy of Phase Out: The Secret Guide to Finding Work that Frees Your Soul by Sophia Remolde {Lobsterbird} at PhaseOutBook.com Lobsterbird’s newest book: Level Up: Power Practices for Spiritual Superabundance by Sophia Remolde   Music for this episode was contributed by Daniel Munkus and recorded in the Hudson River Valley at Subtle Soup Studios. For more info, visit: www.subtlesouprecords.com. Podcast management and creative copy provided by Sonya Louise in Vero Beach, Florida. Sonya Louise is also the force of Nature behind GO Solo Travel & Vision Quest.   For Free Energy Readings from Sophia and to learn about upcoming Hero’s Way Pilgrimages, visit: lobsterbird.com.   ✨CASTING CALL FOR SPIRITUAL TV SHOW✨ Are You a Spiritual Leader, Healer, Artist or Changemaker? Do You Have a Message of Hope and Healing that Needs to Reach More People? If so, you can join us this February in Thailand on the adventure of a lifetime! Experience elephants, monks in monasteries, and huge transformations in your life and business, while exploding your message out to those who need you. We are filming Part 2 of the pilot for Modern Magic the TV Show! Email us at magic@lobsterbird.com for more details!✨   If you liked this episode, please subscribe to our podcast and drop some starshine on us in iTunes. Leaving 5 starsmakes it possible to bring you more goodness. Bonus points for leaving a review!

In this studio recorded podcast we will explore the feeling of love within you and experience the love coming from the universe. This is a 2 part series with the first part being a discussion and the second a guided meditation. This meditative experience is guided by your host Elizabeth Catherine. This is a podcast […] The post Discussion: Love with Hypnotherapist Elizabeth Catherine appeared first on Soul Searching Zone- Intuitive Life Caoch- Kelly T. Smith.

In this studio recorded podcast we will explore the feeling of love within you and experience the love coming from the universe. This is a 2 part series with the first part being a discussion and the second a guided meditation. This meditative experience is guided by your host Elizabeth Catherine. This is a podcast […] The post Guided Meditation: Love with Hypnotherapist Elizabeth Catherine appeared first on Soul Searching Zone- Intuitive Life Caoch- Kelly T. Smith.

In this studio recorded podcast we will explore the feeling of love within you and experience the love coming from the universe. This is a 2 part series with the first part being a discussion and the second a guided meditation. This meditative experience is guided by your host Elizabeth Catherine. This is a podcast […] The post Guided Meditation: Love with Hypnotherapist Elizabeth Catherine appeared first on Soul Searching Zone- Intuitive Life Caoch- Kelly T. Smith.

In this studio recorded podcast we will explore the feeling of love within you and experience the love coming from the universe. This is a 2 part series with the first part being a discussion and the second a guided meditation. This meditative experience is guided by your host Elizabeth Catherine. This is a podcast […] The post Discussion: Love with Hypnotherapist Elizabeth Catherine appeared first on Soul Searching Zone- Intuitive Life Caoch- Kelly T. Smith.

Explore the uniqueness of individual essence thought this musical meditative experience with hypnotherapist Elizabeth Catherine and musician Aaron Groff. Join them as they take you into a journey where you will let the music be your guide after Elizabeth takes you to a magical place. This is a podcast series of meditation and hypnotherapy experiences […] The post Meditation: Individual Essence with Hypnotherapist Elizabeth Catherine appeared first on Soul Searching Zone- Intuitive Life Caoch- Kelly T. Smith.

Explore the uniqueness of individual essence thought this musical meditative experience with hypnotherapist Elizabeth Catherine and musician Aaron Groff. Join them as they take you into a journey where you will let the music be your guide after Elizabeth takes you to a magical place. This is a podcast series of meditation and hypnotherapy experiences […] The post Meditation: Individual Essence with Hypnotherapist Elizabeth Catherine appeared first on Soul Searching Zone- Intuitive Life Caoch- Kelly T. Smith.

Wow. That's all we can say about this episode is WOW. Musician, author and channeler Jeremy Garner joins us for an AMAZING conversation. Jeremy is deeply connected to the Faery Realm and the magical Beings that reside there. He has created the "Beginner's Guide to Faerieland Course" on his youtube channel, which is a wonderful tool for gaining an understanding of Faerieland, and learning skills + techniques to further your connection with the Earth, Faeries and ultimately yourself. Do yourself a favor and check out Jeremy's music on bandcamp, his facebook page and his youtube channel. Enjoy!