Looking For A Way

Music video for “Looking For A Way”, a song from the album Flagship by Trent Boswell.


Lyrics:

Looking For A Way

I climbed like a monkey, up in a tree
Trying to find a piece of me
Way up in the branches so high
I found that I cannot fly… as of yet

But I’m looking for a way

I’m at fault for inciting the madness
And sometimes I can’t stop the sadness
But I’m learning to ride waves of joy
Toward manhood moves a boy

Looking for a way

I got dizzy and fell like a lion
Into the dust of Orion
Those stars; the ones up in the sky;
The one he made up in his mind,
The one that’s still looking

Looking for a way
And I haven’t quit yet

© 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell


The album, Flagship, is available at:

Flagship, by Trent Boswell - original avant-garde rock music

iTunes

Amazon

Spotify

Or get your own, signed copy of Flagship over at Conjure Work.


Trent Boswell – lyrics, all guitar parts, vocals, album producer

Ed Kopp – bass guitar

Brett Waress – drums and hand percussion

Tommy Brothers – audio engineering


Show Your Support

You can help by hitting the thumbs up 👍 button, directly on the YouTube page.

Subscribe ✅ to get more of this kind of madness. Be sure to ring the little notifications bell 🔔 and select “all”.

Support more music, poetry and madness by Trent Boswell over at: Patreon.com/Magus72


Special Thanks To

For all of the really cool footage, photography and visual special effects, special thanks goes to the following people:

Ingo Joseph

Lukas Rodriguez

Andrea Piacquadio

Martina Tomšič

Magda Ehlers

Charlie Mounsey

Miguel Á. Padriñán

Alex Andrews

slon_dot_pics

RF..studio

Lennart Wittstock

Anastasia Shuraeva

Marlon Schmeiski

Erik Mclean

ROMAN ODINTSOV

RODNAE Productions

fotografierende

Yash Lucid

Alexander Krivitskiy

Ricardo Esquivel

Pavel Danilyuk

Rakicevic Nenad

Igor

Aaron Kittredge

Luis Quintero

cottonbro

Polina Tankilevitch

Avonne Stalling

Largo Editt

Tima Miroshnichenko

Lucas Pezeta

Wendy Wei

KoolShooters

Wellcome Library

Also, Michael Burrows, Li Sun, Ron Lach, Samson Katt, Pressmaster and PhotoMIX Company.


Latest Book Release

remission, poetry by Kevin Trent Boswell
remission, by Kevin Trent Boswell

remission


Other Titles Available

The Poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell
The Poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell

Dark Matter

on the page

Liber Ex Liberi

Chaos Comes Apart

in the current

Next

Support more music, poetry and madness by Trent Boswell over at: Patreon.com/Magus72

The Poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell

The Poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell

More Information

YouTube music channel

Instagram

Tumblr

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

the music album, Flagship

Magus Music Facebook page

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Reverb Nation

antiverse

Perception

You may think you’ve seen this one but you ain’t. The new, improved and at least 333% stranger version of “Perception” from the album Flagship by Trent Boswell.


Lyrics:

Perception

What’s a man supposed to do?
It’s hard today just not to lose
So, when I’m down and beaten blue
I look around and think of you

Sink into my contemplation
Answers come with concentration

And strong opinions, well I have mine
And you may find me blind
But I don’t mind because it’s true;
I’ve never needed to see you

Walking ‘cross the field,
I realize that nothing’s real
No pain or joy

Out on the lawn the past is gone
I simply can’t be wrong anymore

Was paid a visit, a strange man
He said that Jesus could lend a hand
Now many a man can’t see the road
Or make a stand on his own

If God is Love, then Love is God
And you agree without a nod

© 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell


The album, Flagship, is available at:

Flagship, by Trent Boswell - original avant-garde rock music

iTunes

Amazon

Spotify

Or get your own, signed copy of Flagship over at Conjure Work.


Trent Boswell – lyrics, all guitar parts, vocals

Ed Kopp – bass guitar

Brett Waress – drums


Show Your Support

You can help by hitting the thumbs up 👍 button, directly on the YouTube page.

Subscribe ✅ to get more of this kind of madness. Be sure to ring the little notifications bell 🔔 and select “all”.

Support more music, poetry and madness by Trent Boswell over at: Patreon.com/Magus72


Special Thanks To

For all of the really cool footage, photography and visual special effects, special thanks goes to the following people:

cottonbro

Johannes Plenio

Stef

Mikhail Nilov

KoolShooters

Mikke House

Frank Cone

Anni Roenkae

Fiona Art

Tima Miroshnichenko

Axel Vandenhirtz

As well as Pressmaster and Erin Li.


More cool, weird, poetic, philosophical, musical and sometimes disturbingly odd stuff at:

https://KevinTrentBoswell.com

https://ThePlasticInfinity.com

conjunct pluto

This piece is from an upcoming collection of poems, called conjunct neptune. The details of the book are in the link, which is the first poem that I wrote in the series. If you haven’t been through that one, it might be more helpful to read it, first. There, I explain what the theme of the book is.

This piece is about Luna, our Moon, when She reaches the point in the roughly twenty-nine day, lunar cycle that She sits in the same space with Pluto… you know, that thing that wasn’t a Planet and then it was for a while… and then it wasn’t, again.

Pluto is similar in several ways to Saturn. The similarity resides in that both Saturn and Pluto/Hades represent a miserly, curmudgeonly, old and cranky energy. They’re both decidedly masculine in presentation but definitely not in a loving father kind of way. Saturn is said to have eaten his own younguns.

Saturn/Kronos Eating A Delicious Snack

Pluto is the Roman God of Wealth. While not identical in nature to Hades, He is similar enough, in many respects.

He holds dominion over wealth, particularly anything that is obtained from the Earth. Since our whole economy is (or was or ought to be; you decide) based on the trading of gold, silver and thousands of other minerals, that’s arguably a rather huge amount of influence on money.

All that goes into the making of the things we buy and sell and trade, it all comes out of the Earth. Even services use material resources (offices, paper recording keeping and endless cups of coffee). This means that they, too, are part of Pluto’s territory.

The Greek equivalent of Pluto is Hades, who is famous for presiding over the Underworld, as it was laid out in Greek mythology. While Hades is not synonymous with Christian concepts of Satan or the Devil, He was still considered to have a brooding, intense personality. It’s said that He was the least-liked of all the gods and usually called upon only for curses.

One thing is sure enough, when astrologers look to Pluto, when other planets are aspecting that body, the effect is one of intensification. Whatever it is, the force of Pluto is one that assists in creating wealth; many uber-rich folks have a Jupiter/Pluto conjunction in their natal chart. But that same energy acts as a multiplier of other ideas and behaviors, as well. Not all of them are good, by anyone’s yardstick.

Pluto generally gives a dark, rather gruff and grumbly, moody tone, one which is keenly interested in power, information, serious research, the accumulation of large amounts of money and so on. The characters of Scrooge and Dr. Frankenstein both come to mind.

Pluto’s influence is the stuff that spy novels, governmental coups and hostile corporate takeovers are made of. So when the lovely, sweet and nurturing energy of the Moon meets with the Lord of Hell, the mood tends to turn a little dark.

This is compounded by the fact that (among Her sweeter qualities) Luna is also a harbinger of mystery, confusion and sometimes, even madness. These are usually (although by no means, always) in reference to initiations and rites of passage. But sometimes, it’s the plain ol’ garden variety crazies.

When Luna conjoins Pluto, attitudes in general lean toward the more greedy, distrustful and even the downright paranoid.

This is not to say that a person who has Luna conjunct Pluto in their chart would have these terrible (or the more positive) traits. A person has many Planets and aspects between them, each thing acting as a counterweight against the others.

Here’s a neat list of famous peeps who have this aspect. They’re a wide mix of personality types, though it’s safe to say that most of them lean toward the intense side of things, even when it’s a positive flavor of intensity. So this piece isn’t about bashing anyone who has that aspect (nor is any other piece in the collection).

No, this is about the energy of these two stellar bodies, by themselves, if we were somehow able to isolate them from everything else. We cannot, obviously. In this hypothetical case, the nurturing of the Moon is almost always degraded and polluted by the the obsession that Pluto represents. The wealth multiplication of Pluto is deranged by the comfort-seeking of Luna and results in “I need all of it, so I can feel good.”

If you enjoy the poem, consider supporting more such creative madness and lunar/plutonian madness, by yours truly, over at Patreon/Magus72.

Now, bearing all of these arcane ideas in mind, I give you (or rather, I row you across the river Styx, to the dark, forlorn shores of)…

conjunct pluto

what fresh hell
is this?

of what use,
is your clever array
of pointless words?

when all, soon enough,
becomes kindling
for the black flames
of unforgiving abyss?

sour not, my tired ear,
you tiny, petulant slug

muddle not, what little respite
is left, of sweet, peaceful silence
with all your futile mumblings
of hope and dreams
and other, such
soap opera nonsenses

leave me alone

and keep all your words…
all those pathetic, condemned souls,
standing foolish on the gallows,
as if last words were ever
anything more than
last

ask me no favors

i expect you to lie

for i see into the murky heart
of all your dark, shady schemes
all your plotting and planning
to stab me in the back
once i am not looking

and because of this,
i am always looking

i am always
watching

i never sleep

i have cameras
and listening devices, bugs
planted everywhere
and a legion of spies

because one must take great care,
and use only a measure of the mean,
an average of what intelligence they offer
using only the most plausible bits
of what the bulk of them say

never place all your bets
on the words of any one, particular spy
because you cannot trust spies
nor words, nor people,
nor intelligence

nor anything else,
for that matter;
not that anything matters

the only thing
that you can trust
is that trust
in anything
is, in itself…
untrustworthy

trust only that things will always break
and that they must be repaired
trust only that things will die
and that the burial of these things
is expensive

the undertaker is himself,
always on the take
and hence, i abstain
from the taking on of
anything that has a pulse
because such things are merely
mouths to feed
they are things which get sick
and doctors, too, are expensive
and they are things which
disappoint you, break your heart

but i’m more sensible than all that;
i paid the doctor to remove my heart

most sensible purchase
i ever made, that surgery

hearts and souls and conscience,
these are luxuries that are far too expensive
too many sick days, lost wages
and worries which are not worth
the wear and tear

but the point is…

i’m watching you
because i know
your ways

you and your patiently,
waiting for me to die
or to slip up or fumble,
so that you may
usurp my power

i know of all your clandestine,
assassin’s designs
your machinations
for the taking of all that i have
all that i have worked for
and all that i have stolen
all that i have swindled away
from the trusting
all that i have, only because
i possessed the backbone,
the fortitude,
to slay the meek
to take what was theirs
and make it my own

in short…
i know
you

because i see
the bitter truth of things,
how all are self-concerned,
consumed with self
and nothing, nor anyone else

therefore, i keep to myself
and i keep everything for myself
i retain all that is,
as my own

since when did anyone
ever do anything
for me?

you must take by force and by fakery
by clever graft and by hard work
and by brute force and by the bloody blade
and you must never give anything away,
not ever, not to anyone
and never sell anything
that you may need, later
and never keep anything that you can sell
and never sell anything too cheaply
but never hold onto anything that is cheap
and will depreciate in value, over time
but never spend too much on anything

you understand?

you must be wily and wise
and clever and most of all,
ruthless and cunning

for all
that there is,
in this barren world,
is the having of things
and the having, not of things

there is the taking
and the being took
and nothing else

and they’ll all try to take
everything that you took
from someone else

they’ll try to take it
for themselves
in a heartbeat,
leaving you with
nothing but
an empty basket
of space,
where things used to be

except that there will be
no basket,
because they’ll have
taken that, too

and so,
mark my words,
you dying insect…

not that words
were ever anything
worth marking down,
unless they were
the words on the deeds
to land and bank accounts…

you mark my words…

you’d better take
and take quickly
or else be
took from

and you’ll be left
not a solitary crumb,
not a single morsel,
to put into the
greedy, little mouths
of all your expensive,
insect offspring

now, off
and away with you

i’ve no time
for you

i’m terribly busy,
watching everything
that was or is
or ever will be

watching it all burn
and crumble
into ash
and blow away,
into oblivion

© 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell


Latest Book Release

remission, poetry by Kevin Trent Boswell
remission, by Kevin Trent Boswell

remission


Other Titles Available

Dark Matter

on the page

Liber Ex Liberi

Chaos Comes Apart

in the current

Next

The Poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell
The Poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell

The Poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell

More Information

KevinTrentBoswell.com

YouTube

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

the music album, Flagship

Music Streaming, Amazon 

Music Streaming, Apple Music 

Music Streaming, Spotify

SoundCloud

Serkal of Snakes

Winding through the wild witchery, tripping headlong into tribal trance… follow the wise serpent into the netherworld.

Another bizarre, bombastic track from the electronic music album, Crossing the Rubicon.

The video is live on YouTube for all to enjoy but only patrons can download the audio track for this auditory initiation into the æther.

Tribal drums, layering slowly, steadily, methodically atop one another, just as the a snake winds itself into coils.

Haunting, aboriginal howls from the deep belly of the shamanic didgeridoo. Slip on into the prehistoric pool, the temperature of the primordial soup is just fine.

Patrons can access the .mp3 audio file of this track on Patreon.

© 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell

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Other Insanity

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Perception

A new music video for the song “Perception” from the full-length, studio album, Flagship by Trent Boswell.

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Blind In The Sun

If you like bands like Queens of the Stone Age, Jane’s Addiction, Jimi Hendrix or The Mars Volta, then you’ll probably dig this.

This is a brand new recording of the song that I wrote many years ago but never had a chance to record it until now. I’ve played it live with my band quite a few times but unfortunately, we never caught it on tape.

I’m playing the bass and guitar parts and singing. Everything that you hear on this track is me, except for the drums. That’s because I don’t have access to a live drummer right now. Besides, feeding and caring for a wild animal like that is expensive.

Here’s the full video on YouTube. Don’t forget to hit the thumbs up 👍 subscribe ✅ and the notifications bell 🔔

The song is called blind in the sun and the lyrics are below. Originally, it was a poem and I set it to music (hence the Roman numerals in the lyrics).

The .mp3 file is attached to my Patreon page, so you can go there, download it (for free) and play it whenever you want.

I forget sometimes that people don’t always follow my rather eccentric, artistic choices, so I will explain something about this track. I purposefully chose not to clean up the sloppier guitar licks on this track, because it’s the feel that I was going for… teetering on the edge of the abyss.

Going back and punching in smoother, cleaner guitar parts is easy enough. I just didn’t want ’em, not for this. I’ll mention two songs that inspired my playing on this. One is “God”, by Tori Amos. Her guitar player is way better than he sounds on that track. It’s dirty, gritty and foul, for a reason. The song is about existential angst and the loss of faith, so it’s gotta be grimy.

The other is “Come On (Let The Good Times Roll)” by The Jimi Hendrix Experience. On that song, he does what jazz musicians refer to as “going outside”, meaning that he lets his solos wander just a little bit out of time and out of key, on purpose. Of course, he brings it back in or it wouldn’t be interesting. I chose to step outside on this track but hopefully not too much.

Feel free to share the link to this page or the Patreon page, or the YouTube link on your social media, that’s the best form of advertising there is for underground artists. I thank you in advance. Enjoy!

Just click that big, unwieldy link, below, to listen to the track. Or go to the Patreon page. You can download the song from the Patreon page and have it for your very own. Just don’t forget to water it every few days and never feed it after midnight.

Blind In The Sun

https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/3/eyJhIjoxLCJwIjoxfQ%3D%3D/patreon-media/p/post/45543356/0114204adf4a4bb2b4c492b3e1d80cbd/1.mp3?token-time=1609345733&token-hash=2ZL8WItz55_ogZDHvUN7Am6ticXKPOwsOUgMUTJy7_k%3D

I.

Blind in the Sun⠀
Can you cringe beneath
The shadow of a fly?
You’d better try
Running ‘cross the sand
Fire in the hearts of your band
In the joy of being alive
Stripped of delusion
And so forwardly stride

Lost in the garden
with canonized illusions
There are the keepers
Of the tower
But I am not a member
Of the dark December
The light of the sun refracts
In my eye

II.

Everything is water
Electric fluid matter
In a paper cup
Called Time

III.

Somewhere in the North
There are real vampires
I know you go to visit
From time to time
To roll in the stench
The decadence of
Thirst for blood
To dine with a pack
Of wild gods

I have no intent
Of adopting your bent;
Partying down with the devil
On your shoulder

I have no intent
Of going where you went
Beating on a skull
In a hellish midnight circle

But who am I to say?
That you are not ok?
I will simply stay
Behind

Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell


Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell


Latest book release:

remission

remission , by Kevin Trent Boswell
remission

Other Titles Available:

Dark Matter

on the page

Liber Ex Liberi

Chaos Comes Apart

in the current

Next

The Poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell

KevinTrentBoswell.com

YouTube

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

the music album, Flagship

Music Streaming, Amazon 

Music Streaming, Apple Music 

Music Streaming, Spotify

SoundCloudBlind In The Sun.mp3

conjunct saturn

This piece is new and is part of a book that I’m working on, called one pass by. The theme is one trip of the Moon through the lunar cycle.

The Moon is the protagonist of each poem, speaking directly to the reader or just thinking out loud. These are musings about the moods and experiences that come up each month, as Luna aspects the other planetary bodies in our solar system.

Our moon travels around the entire ecliptic (faster than any of the other, traditional planets) in roughly 29 days. That means She regularly conjoins (meets) all the other Planets, as well as forming what astrology calls aspects with them, such as sextile, square, trine and opposition.

Each of these angles prompts a different type of energy. Making sense of how these aspects affects us is a big part of what serious astrologers do.

In astrology, the word planet comes from the Greek, meaning “wanderer”. So yes, the Sun (Sol) and the Moon (Luna) are each a proper Planet (capitalized P for respect), even though they are not planets, in the astronomical sense.

In mythology, each of the Planets are ascribed as being the same energy or archetype of a particular God or Goddess. Our versions are named after the Roman Deities and correspond quite closely to their Greek counterparts.

In essence, these poems are the Goddess Luna, on her usual, monthly travels around Earth and Sol, the Sun. She’s talking about Her experiences with each of them, telling us the story of what can usually be expected, when She bumps into the other Gods in some way.

Each piece is written in lowercase, including the proper names, such as Saturn and Jupiter. This is a stylistic choice and nothing else. I probably read too much e.e. cummings and I’m just plain weird like that.

People who understand basic astrology will probably get a deeper meaning of each piece but they written simply enough that people with no astrological background can still get the gist of what’s happening and follow the stories.

The Moon is representative of many things and the easiest of these to grasp right away is emotions. Where the Moon is and how She is interacting with the other bodies out there determines a huge amount of what wee feel, collectively and individually.

This piece is about when Luna occupies the same bit of space as the Planet Saturn, who is the Lord of Time, restriction, boundaries, limitations, duty, architecture, crops (to some degree), geology, slavery and prisons. He also rules over contracts and institutions, especially in their more complex, bureaucratic and byzantine forms.

If you enjoy this and you want to see more of these produced, ha a look over the tier benefits on my Patreon page and become a patron, to support this work.

And now, I give you…

conjunct saturn

conjunct saturn

one of my least favorite bits
and each of us admits
jaws clench and grind
dutifully, as we try

to respect the old man;
but it crumbles, our plan
when near him, you find
you want to curl up in a ball and cry

i try hard to explain
in a language, most plain
my thoughts and feelings
and my needs, most dear

from his bed, every time,
of gravel, dirt and lime,
grumbles that these dealings
he just doesn’t care to hear

the only thing that i can say
of our meetings that’s okay
is that beside him, i discover
i seem to have the uncanny knack

for putting self into order,
defining clearly the border
between this, that and the other;
and it helps me to pick up the slack

but it’s tiresome work
for he’s a bit of a jerk
to be honest, he’s no fun
and no one really likes him

but as guardian, it’s clear
he inspires much fear,
so much so, that no one
ever dare strike him

into whatever room
floats our cloud of gloom,
they sit up straight and quick
and all take a somber notice

the vibe becomes serious
no drunk smiles, delirious
like jesus hitting you with a stick
or buddha, with a lead-filled lotus

folks get down and back to working
time for labor, not lurking
and he’s carefully checking
everyone’s to-do, check lists

if they’ve missed a thing or two,
as we all often do,
their rear ends, he’s wrecking;
his motivation-boot, it assists

my heavy heart hurts
at each weight he asserts;
the sad details he shows me
of the most dreary, depressing issues

though i attempt to retreat,
our little dates aren’t complete
until he calls me a baby and throws me
a box of camel-hair tissues

copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell


Latest book release:

remission

remission, by Kevin Trent Boswell

Other Titles Available:

Dark Matter

on the page 

Liber Ex Liberi 

Chaos Comes Apart 

in the current 

Next 

KevinTrentBoswell.com

YouTube

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

the music album, Flagship

Music Streaming, Amazon 

Music Streaming, Apple Music 

Music Streaming, Spotify

SoundCloud

clobber

clobber with slobber

the foaming beast

tumble over rover

not bothered in the least

a bull and a pig

shopped for china one day

and a minefield dig

for archeological play

toppling the workloads,

tumbling down card towers

a brief symposium

of how energy is released

drenched in sweat

and love and tea

a most brutal pet

killing all boredom, sending it away

Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell

Patreon.com/magus72

YouTube

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

the music album, Flagship

Music Streaming, Amazon 

Music Streaming, Apple Music 

Music Streaming, Spotify

SoundCloud

untitled

the dark nighttime

has many visions,

lost illusions, all seeking

to guide you

into foul madness,

struggling beneath

too-short

and coarse covers

trust your gut,

sweet child

for nothing but light

is inside you

the same

may not always

be said

of the others

look both ways

before you cross over 

the unknown

threshold

there is the light

which is in you

true

and bold

and then there’s

all of the everything 

else

that’s out there

some lights

which have gone out

but haven’t yet

been told

devils may take the

appearance of angels,

so always 

take care

these would

warm themselves

by the fires of

your favors

but themselves,

cannot

return

the good deed

gratitude absent,

and all the 

usual, 

good flavors

are not nearly so much 

in them,

not so much as 

they need

caring, something

they’re sometimes

quite good

at feigning

but they would 

not do so much 

at all,

were they able

to give you

assistance

they assist

by restraining

so that you make

in their making

up the food

on the table

in those dark places,

your rules don’t

make up

for the senses

your eyes

often fail

and your hearing

goes dumb

you‘re a good child,

a smart one

keeps up

strong defenses

against the weaving

of webs that would

have you

succumb

listen not

to easy tales 

of leisure

or love

be generous

to the grateful,

giving too much,

one discovers

there’s humanity

in your heart

and it fits you,

like a glove

but the same

may not always

be said

of the others

listen closely

when the light

whispers its

soft warning

go not lightly

where it would

sternly 

guide you away

lean gentle

upon your genteel

manners

of good morning

shield carefully,

your beacon

shining,

that it may

ward off those

hungry things, 

slinking 

in the twilight

committing

many crimes

to justify

sadness

your large heart

feeds them 

but the briefest 

time’s highlight

your manners 

won’t bring them

single moment’s

gladness

baleful hunger

returns ever, 

without

pause

more hot and fierce,

and much

stronger

than before

opening you

slowly, 

hiding

their cause

growing more

and more bold,

once you open

the door

in knowing

what warm,

nice feelings

spill out of you

upon your noble,

good faith,

they come

again to dine

a stitch of

incredulous

will keep away

death’s hue

after all

is said and done,

it almost always

saves nine

trim the wick

of your candle,

its bright light,

inspire

keep your

powder all dry

and your lamp

tinder lit

the pushers

of darkness,

small steps lead

to the dire

be careful

and wise

and don’t

fall for it

strange misgivings

will have you 

to shirk, 

with sudden attitude

even the

friendliest

of those come

hither smiles

the first thing

to go, 

once they get in,

is your mood

lasting longer

than it should,

means you’re taken

by the wiles

hold your memory

tight 

and never let them 

touch

trust, when the way down 

is nagging

and the good feeling 

lacks

harken which hands 

reach for you,

too awful

much

a bother in your belly, 

stops you 

dead in your 

tracks

your energy

will fail,

long before

their thirst

that visceral fear, 

in your warm,

tenderhearted

guts

if you take

the hooked bait,

you’ll soon see

their worst

suspicious,

uncertain

and thinking that

you’re nuts

those uneasy

twinges

that drive you back,

second guessing

from the most

obvious act

of a seeming

benevolence

they’re there

to warn you

of something

bad, pressing

despite daddy’s

words good can 

sometimes draw 

a malevolence

some feed on grace,

manners 

and mother’s charm school

propriety

it’s less commentary

on your love

on more so,

on their bleakness

in spite

of polite

good intentions,

all sobriety

resides in your

maintenance

against your own

weakness

glowing with life,

you are 

and so, must remain

in your poises

stay out of the

shadows

and out

of the foolish

they, and it, wane 

into dark dins

of the most 

horrible noises

which lead

away from light

and down into

the ghoulish

when your social

sensibilities

are suddenly

eviscerated

and it happens

without logical

reasons,

not one

something upon surface

seems

rather

uncomplicated

do not question it,

dear child,

instead…

turn and run

abdominal doubt

scorning the

solid

handshaking

is hidden

inside of

your knotted-up,

inward self

signal of a threat, 

through 

inexplicable

quaking

though they look

the good deal,

put them back

on the shelf

never wander

too closely

to the edges

of the dark

shadows have

been known,

on occasion, 

to jump through

to leap out and swallow

flickering,

pretty things

that spark

those that reside

inside of

pretty things

such as you

keep close

to the guard dogs

who growl

behind fierce eyes

when strange

temptations

come close,

offering favors

do not lean in,

or listen

too well

to their lies

the keepers

of darkness

and light

are close neighbors

and sometimes

those shaded

boundaries 

do fall wide open

for some 

always go there,

eager to steal 

keys

this may shock

or confuse,

sensibilities,

all broken

disappearance 

in the night happens, 

with the greatest

of ease

not all are so nice 

as you, child and know 

that some are the weight

of a great, heavy stone

not everyone

and everything

would have you

to live

some would

consume all,

even marrow

of your bone

every precious,

last drop of

all the blood

you could give

some of the

monsters feed

quietly

on your brain

not keeping you

in such good

but a good many

shapes

most monsters fall out

from the ordinary

and there,

they remain

until you break

their spells  

and your spirit

escapes

creepers

all slithering

down low,

out of light

shielding from

the bright, good

and sensible

day

well-hidden

under coverings,

many put up 

no fight

but will linger

and drain you

until you rise up

and slay

some appear tricky,

as a lamp 

or a torch

often does

but are only 

cloaks of

drowning 

in the cool shade

storms,

wearing rainbows

where color,

never was

any light

splintering through,

artificially

made

devils with dowries

invite you to 

lie on razor sharp 

pillows

with sweet, sugar

poisons,

sharp in the throat,

catch

because some wicks

take to light

easily, 

like dried-up, old willows

candle burns through

the night,

on first strike of

one match

some things

look a lot like a candle,

a flame or 

a spark

but they

will never burn,

no matter how hard 

you try

use up all 

your matches

and still,

in the dark

some will

always break things

and take things

and lie

about other things

like innocence

and light

and hope

lovely or kind

at first glance,

they may

look

but with a lot

of hard scrubbing

and a fair

amount of soap

you’ll discover

the ruse

and note all  

they took

I’m sorry to

have to say, child

not all is 

as it seems

in fact, most

things aren’t,

at deep heart

of the matter

in this world,

there are things

far worse 

than bad dreams

and the daylight

does not cause

them all 

just to scatter

some things

are stubborn 

in slow dying,

sowing trouble

and you’ll never

get back

those things

which were taken

guard against the losses

and in time, 

pop your own

bubble

childhood

dies a bit easier 

with your confidence,

unshaken

but die,

it must do,

since it’s nothing

but a blindness

the warm blanket

of sheltering,

by fathers

and mothers

the love you

possess, child

rewards kindness

with kindness

the same 

may not be said, 

always

of the others

Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell


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ReverbNation

Conjure Sound

Strange Leaf

It’s not about just one thing.

You will easily spot some of the references to what’s going on right now and you’ll be tempted to stop thinking about it any deeper. But there’s far more in this than just what’s on the surface. This piece has no less five, separate meanings.

At the link below, you can listen to the recording. It’s an audio track of a poem that I set to music.

It starts very subtly but as it goes on, more and more layers of sound are building up in the background.

When you click the button, it gives you two options. If you just want to listen, click “view”. If you want to keep it, click “download”.

The words are posted below, in case you want to read over it. Feel free to share it with anyone you want.

Enjoy.

Strange Leaf

Turning over the strange leaf

Turning over the strange leaf

This disease is twisted

Scroll of crisp, fleeting knowledge

Closed

Knowledge of fire

Imminent

Throttle the breath

The king demands to be suffocated

In his sleep

Open the store for business

Give away the store

Surrender the kingdom to foreign invaders

Exposing palace guard

To various and sundry diseases

Each lure is enticing

More flies with honey

Otherwise, who would pay

With their histories?

Draw them all in with promises

Dates, compensation

Envelopes of flesh, pay offs

Reward for job well done

Blown secrets

Welcoming the killer

Taking them in hand

Pressing the lips to theirs

The people marvel, asking… how is it?

That one is so keen on this ruin?

Sitting amid the ashes and smoke

Of everything that has been built here?

These modern assassins

With their blades that are not sharp

And somehow, still cut into the chest

Death hides in expensive papers

Slow poisoning

Curses, binding victims

Black operations

Enchantments of vapor

Fog, happy delusions

The superior general is nowhere to be seen

He is conscious

Too clever

Cannot be made

Knows the angles

Lives and breathes the routine

False front

Encryption easy, plaintext works fine

No one puzzles anymore

Steganography is in the obituaries

Citizens are exhausted

Too tired for such crossword puzzles

Going out for a smoke instead

Trade information

In the marketplace

Exfiltration

Bring the defector

Home

Bite down on the dangling bait

Taking it all in

Believing every breath

Of the lies

Hide in plain sight

Got him by the throat

Control every decision

Deep cover

In the king’s pocket

Eight ball, corner pocket

Potentate busy in the honey pot

Playing with the handler’s mice;

Brief pleasures

Foolish pursuits

The intelligence all warned of these things

Plant the propaganda cypher deep

Where invisible moles dig up dirt

Behind enemy lines

Behind the iron curtain

Inside the iron lung

Flimsy robes providing no cover

Leaving your backside naked

Ass hanging in the wind

Summon the executioner

Simple curling of the finger

Roll up the scroll again

Match strike

Set it all off

Breathe in the satisfaction

Knowing operation is in motion

It’s coming soon

Playback is sanitized

Redaction, blot out the salient bits

Stopping up the pipes

Sell the story to the people

Want to play the game

Mutually assured destruction

Broken rhythms, code

Exorbitant bills

Gray sleeper

Uncle should have had the trigger in place

Monitoring the pulse

Cut out

Build up the legend

Elicitation of consent

Keys handed over for favors

Stay on the reservation

Travel in packs

Operative signals

A cough

Smokescreen

Run out to the store

Real quick

Dead drop

Delivery of small packages

Sabotage

Spanner in the works

Monkey mouth

Tinkering with toys

In terminal waiting rooms

Going to see the tailor and then

To see the cobbler

Fitting out the gear

Getting ready for the ball

Cinderella stories

Surreptitious flaps, seal the lips

Ghouls scour the graveyards

Where soon enough, all walk

A stainless steel ride

On the smooth train

Smoke stacks churning

Nonstop trip over the river

The L-Pill is long and round

It feels warm and pleasant as it

Sweeps the room…

Never know where the bugs are hiding

The chessboard is covered

With hundreds of rooks

Provocateurs and their purple ravens

Send in the pretty bird

She who swallows the signets

Conversation starters

Asking if she can bum a ride

No one can resist sharing with her

A most deadly resource

Infiltrating deep inside

Her smile

Lights up in the house

Show time

All sing like canaries

Under her spell

All light up with anticipation

We’d lose it all, were it not for her

Lost inside these dark clouds

Hearing that sultry siren voice

Regularly calling us

Out into the open

Vulnerable

Always comes

Dressed to kill

In something see-through

How excited each one gets

Peeling off those thin, flimsy wrappings

Hurriedly tossing them aside

For the insanely craved

The fumbling, shaky

Handful of minutes that it usually lasts

Carnal knowledge

Taken inside

Surrendering to the temptations

Wiles of the seductress

Little rituals and pats on the bottom for luck

One is literally turned upside down

Her charm is so strong

She deals in illusions,

Mirages, smoke and mirrors

Her stock and tradecraft

She’s good…

She’s very, very good

Never even questioning the matter

Asses feverishly chasing butts

Into oblivion and ash

Nursemaids gather on the back porch

On every coffee break

Swapping nuggets, juice, gossip, stories

Melodies of the official musicians

Open up the secrets of the music box

Sing the song of familiar comfort

Putting tips into the black hat

Saving up ducats to spend at the commissary

The doctor too, is an asset

Take the medicine

Change in the wind

Even dispersion through the system

Everything flows into place

Pouring in waves

Filling the containers

Enemy assets have infiltrated the realm

Moving now in the open

Impunity

Friends begin to distance themselves

Seeing the information come out

Noting how the map keeps rolling up

How it won’t stay in place

No one wants all that mess

Rubbing off on them

Second hand knowledge of good and evil

Disinformation

Civilians

Collateral damage

Innocents… it’s peculiar how they sound

Like innocence, itself

Out of the loop

Not in the know

Once, we too were innocent

Now, so much dirty laundry

So many secrets

Deeds that cannot be undone

We were all so green

Initial brush contact

Obsessed birdwatchers

True converts

Believers

In the cause

Now we maintain silence

Unnoticeable tip of the head

From across the room

Stepping out back for a quick exchange

And back in before anyone is missed

Dropping an innocent postcard

From time to time

Cultivation

Till the rough soil

Turn the flowerbeds over

Spread the chickenfeed

Spread the seed

Burned

Compromised

Smoking gun

A bit of dry cleaning

Removes the odors and stains

Burn the microfilm, papers, documents

Bona fides

Take off your shoes… all of them;

Don’t forget anything

Think hard about where

You might have hidden some

Step onto the scales

Feel the weight

Step away

Take a seat, bow out, tap out

The man in the coat and tie

Will be in to see you soon

Too much heat in the kitchen

Stepping back

Away from the blowback

Maintain cover, deniability

Pockets, littered with hiding

Cooling off in the shade

Double-cross the bridge

A trip to the hospital

Dressed up like a throwaway pig

In a coffin company suit

Book of matches, tucked into the vest pocket

A sequence of numbers inside

Picked up in grandma’s Cadillac

And going to the penthouse

For the all day long

Erase the problem

With assistance from the Dutch

And all of their superior, problem-solving skills

Transfer of power

Exchange

Change, slight

Sleight of hand

A hand in it

Too many hands

Off limits

Safe house

Tall brown grass

Walking sticks

Dead

Drop

Hush, little baby

Never heard a word

Assure the dying

All is well


From the book remission, by Kevin Trent Boswell. Now available on Amazon.

remission , by Kevin Trent Boswell

© 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell

Patreon

Flagship, by Trent Boswell

YouTube

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Other poetry titles available:

Liber Ex Liberi

Next

on the page – poems for artists, writers and other hooligans

Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity

Chaos Comes Apart

in the current

Nighttime

Author’s Note: This piece is dedicated to anyone who is still awake and should not be, to anyone who is worried about what things are waiting, up ahead.

Nighttime

Trouble, in the nighttime, fell
Upon too wakeful brow,
Which ought to sleep

Coins cast in tainted well,
Uncertainty of where and how,
Enough to cause anyone to weep

Pitching gold piece of its own,
Came an angel of repose and rest
With curious question, whispered, quiet

“A myriad things, all unknown…
How is it you’re certain… to fail the test?
Without shred of doubt, that may deny it?”

Of course, no good answer was there, for this
And searching, mind grew sore and tired
Eyes heavy, in downward creep

The angel placed soft, loving kiss
Upon empty head, thoughts all expired
Drifting peaceful now, into the deep

Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell


Support the work at my Patreon page:

https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I cross-post the public works here. Patrons-only content is available, there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

“rain” – The Open Mic Series

This series features pieces of my poetry, read by my friends. The first post has more information about it. Check that out, here: none

Here’s the second piece, read by my friend, Dawn Leith-Dougherty. 

This one is called “rain“ and it’s appropriate, because it’s drizzling here, today.

rain_Kevin_Trent_Boswell.mp3

If you would like to read along (or just see the text, for yourself), here’s where this poem was originally posted:

rain


Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell


Support the work at my Patreon page:

https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I cross-post the public works here. Patrons-only content is available, there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

The Open Mic Series – “none”

Here’s a really neat project that I’m pretty excited about!

I asked some of my friends to make recordings of themselves reading my poems. Quite a few thought it was a great idea and were more than happy to contribute.

The link here is the .mp3 of the first one I’ve chosen to present to you. You can click on it and just listen or right-click and save, if you want to keep it. It’s free!


Recording of “none” by Kevin Trent Boswell


By the way, if you want to help out and support more cool stuff like this, see my Patreon page, Magus72.


I’ll be posting them here, one at a time. I’ve had a lot of fun putting this together and I hope you enjoy listening to them.

The main thing I wanted to achieve here is get a variety of people, reading the pieces… in the way that they hear them.

None of the readers were given any prompts about how to read. A few people preferred to have something assigned to them and so I picked for them. But in most cases, they chose their own pieces to read.

This first poem is called “none” and it’s from my book in the current.

in the current, by  Kevin Trent Boswell

Our guest reader is Xander and he did a great job with it. 


Recording of “none” by Kevin Trent Boswell


I’m posting the text, as well. That way, you can follow along or read it first, then listen or just listen and find out where it takes you… your choice. Enjoy.

none

mandala being nightmare…

nothing being curse…

still we strive for 

something!

she cries 

in her 

elliptical 

orbit

cycle of nothingness 

somethingness

separation 

dance

eros 

chance

death, 

arousal and 

denial

correct, 

of course

the role being 

after all 

seductress

how could one say 

that she was wrong?

how could one argue 

that anything

was ever

wrong?

polarities

cry of response 

no avail

she is 

in heat

hears 

nothing 

of my 

dharma

portions of 

infinity 

etc.

no wrong

only difference

how must one 

proceed in 

seeking

to curse

the void?


Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell 

from the book, in the current


Support the work at my Patreon page:

https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I cross-post the public works here. Patrons-only content is available, there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

after the crying

It is truly strange, our choices

In the certain light of death

Each of us inclined to 

A different manner  

Of dispensing or dealing with 

The final breath

One will merely smile 

And go for a long walk 

Another gathers the family 

And prepares a meal,

Over which they might talk

Some will scream silently, 

Slumping down and over slow, 

Into nothingness 

While a newly widowed spouse, 

Enflamed, seeks out a final fling 

with some sexy piece of dress

The bitter recite litanies of pain and 

Assign all manner of important blame

The fighters assault random strangers

Beat them into the ground

And assign them terrible names


Priests herd sheep into house of prayer 

To deliver the last rites 

Of final sleep

Lovers kiss and promise;

This living briefly with the awareness 

of impending loss

causes them to cling and to 

relentlessly weep

Children huddle, whimper and 

Meekly question 

What thing comes next… 

After the crying…

The bony, white lady 

Walks the streets of night, 

She sweeps up the losses

And calls it dying


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

I AM; SHE AM; WE AM

I am Love

And the power of the Sword

I am the softly spoken Word

She, receiver of the fruit

Speaks of Nothing, yet all,

Has she heard


I am the Way,

          the Truth and 

          the bringer of Light

I am not the Lamb

I am, instead, 

The stillness of Night 

I am the lover 

I bear the yoke of Strength

My children shall draw in, behind

I am of Her,

At any length

She shall be strong in her mind

I shall guide when I may,

Gently to say,

Draw towards the paths of 

Light, Truth

I will embrace her,

She, the secret practitioner,

Falling in the spiral

Of joyous youth

She is Love  

And the power of Earth


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

zipper head

zipper head,

open your tender teeth

reveal yourself 

in all 

of all 

that 

you are

clench

the mail

betwixt your steel jaws

deliver the cypher 

into waiting hands

so many crude 

assumptions 

of what you might 

or maybe 

may be

you can come into the arms of 

safe haven,

you are the arms of safe haven 

you are anything but 

safe

haven

let the carpet unroll

before your feet

of marbled steel 

kicking rusty sparks of lightning 

from the concrete

bouncing light 

and quarters 

into heaven’s gutters

zipper head,

stay where the rumbles occur 

keep your head high and

out of the trenches

your worn, dusty boots,

dug deep into the stirrups 

of a bipolar bull, 

thrashing one…

torpid another 

through the shiftiest gears,

our protagonist prevails

walk those high wire nights

of cappuccino hallelujah

scratch the blackboard dust

swing at that other head,

climbed into a chasm of dark

make every new 

adoption of nomenclature 

the donning of your sacred title 

a wreathe of laurel highlights 

lay upon your cornflower brow

a teeming of light in your sepia, 

seal eyes

pontificate of sarsaparilla calculus 

you observer of courses 

determiner of courses

forgetter of courses

let all courses be 

subject to your power

and sway

a kingdom which stretches past

all imagination or illumination

let them conduct themselves rightly,

for knowledge of your presence 

they query quick but quiet,

twirling stick in coffee and 

mad scraps of leaky pen napkin notes

and the subtle escapes of breath

from your pulpit

convert them, each 

and all 

to your church

of the considerate virgin

let your christ gnosis

hail the multitudes 

of bovine slitherers 

each now armed 

with impressive equations of 

equanimity, poise

because your scepter

hath provisioned the unwashed

with its manna

lay your miracle on the 

blister of impatience 

and lameness walks now,

with living memorial of 

lazarus sensibilities

oh but could we only attain

unto thee,

hail, most mighty

of the cousins

and czar of all the wanderers of 

the minotaur’s labyrinth 

we invite you to sit with us 

for tea and do tarry

tell us the tales of 

your turns

we are swollen now, 

swallowed and all 

fallen into silence, 

as we wait upon our excitable smiles

for your symposium

of next-ness

zipper head,

fair friend of the white and gray…

let it begin

we are ready


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

rain

i can feel the rain coming,

in my spirit


like the old man

in the rocking chair

on his front porch,

i feel it in every bone,

every trick limb and

aching joint


a sweeping sense of despair,

as my head passes through a

deluge

something similar to

a drive through car wash,

only… less convenient

a team of pressurized fire hoses

and huge, comic pom poms,

thwacking me

right in my

frontal cortex

as the weather makes its approach,

a sweeping sense of despair,

as the weather makes its

slow, arrogant approach

i know its imminent arrival,

often hours beforehand…

before the first cloud

rears its muddy black,

disapproving face


my bones crack and my hopes

sag

nothing fazes

the stupor,

a dark, somnolent plague

of inefficient sleep,

brought on by

a simple change of

barometric pressure…

a slight swing of

humidity;


a little water.


a little water can

drown

my

w

o

r

l

d

never approaching

the front page,

ranking only

section c in the newspaper

the c section

opens my skull

and dumps that precious

baby brain on the

cold, tile floor

kicking it into the corner,

near the waste can


those morons at the paper

ought to recognize

that murder is more of a

front page deal

they view it as

a little spill on the carpet,

it’s only water…

don’t cry…

i won’t cry.


but i will sleep;

i am drugged

and stuffed into a canvas bag

by this natural sedative;

carted off to the ocean

of inactivity

and dumped in,

left for dead

with a note,

pinned to my scalp:


“you will submit to my dominance.

you will curl up

in a soggy, little ball

and wait

for me to pass”


i have survived, seemingly

intolerable fires of the spirit,

unquenchable flames of the heart

earth scorching plumes of fire,

setting daily life alight

i’ve dealt with dozens of

major catastrophes,

not to mention hundreds of

tiny conflagrations,

the little fires that need putting out

only to be doused

and completely


extinguished


by a little water


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

I am getting back on to my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. But other, patrons-only content will be available to patrons, there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

untitled

One may never truly know

Into what deep and secret part

A simple kindness, how it grows

Seed taking root in the heart

The depth of its vast potential

That seeming, but not, small event

How vital, immense and essential

When it sprouts, or where it went


Author’s Note:

I read a post on Facebook about a man who, as a child, was regularly, severely beaten by his mother.

He said that watching Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood showed him that he didn’t deserve that cruelty and he said “Mr. Rogers saved my life”. I couldn’t seem to locate the post again but it inspired this piece.

Be kind to each other. When people will not allow you to be kind, then at least be BIG and just walk away.

There’s a huge difference between choosing to avoid arguments/fights and being a coward. People need to understand the difference.

Some people think that every minor confrontation is a threat to their wellbeing or even just their ego. They think that if they walk away, it equals weakness.

The real weakness is lacking the self-confidence to simplify go around it and ignore it. If backed into a corner or loved ones are threatened, then fight; to the death, if necessary.

But if someone is just mouthing off, you can choose to just ignore it. Rather than it saying that you’re too afraid to deal with it, it says that you’re too BIG to deal with it.

And you never know… your complete refusal to be rattled or fearful or angry or to be drawn into a fight, it might just have a profound effect on the person who is challenging you.

They may change, they may not, doesn’t matter. What matters is that YOU will change.


Copyright 2020

Kevin Trent Boswell

(Magus)


The new book is out now, on Amazon: 

Chaos Comes Apart

Support the work at my Patreon page: https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I cross-post the public works here. Patrons-only content is available, on my Patreon.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

Chaos Comes To Town

If perhaps you’re craving some escape, some vitamins of inspiration, to get you through the dull roar of viruses and technological hangups and fearful, dull talk of elections and recessions and limitless to do lists and the hundred things you want to step aside from, for just a few, delicious minutes…

You might enjoy dipping into the eccentric, electric pool of weirdly words that I now release. Images that speak through your eyes and feelings that peer into your ears, reassuring you that, no matter how strange today seems, it’s likely to only get stranger, my dears.

Doesn’t sound like reassurance to you? Then look further, deeper into the expanding woo of kaleidoscope and know, that something bitterly beautiful and magnificent always comes out of every bizarre, however far, at first, it went.

The only thing you can count on for certain is that everything changes and everything… including troubles… settles back into comfortable routine, given enough time for the cooking bubbles.

This is true, whether you struggle against the changes with every ounce of strength or relax, let current carry you, drifting along, entire length.

It all stirs up and then, peacefully settles… back… down… again… even if you do absolutely nothing about it. Try it, breathe it, if you care to doubt it.

So do the things you need to do,
To take care of your own and for care of you
But turn an ear and an eye for moments, few
For a little something to help you through

After all, how can a mind possibly deal with all the chaos, real, of the modern world, if not properly armed, to defend itself? Protect the gray in your skull against the beast, with the malleable mania of poetry priest, and fend off some of the stupid doldrums that are pounding, drooling, at the door.

All good secret agents know, that if facing torture interrogation, they should distract themselves from pain with elation, singing and making up silly stories in their head. This keeps the mind from snapping, a thing that’s certainly worse than dead.

A bit of poetry and music, all that Orpheus ever used and he traversed the depths of hell, emerging unscathed, unbruised. Put some of that magick dust into your pocket and go, it’s only left to trust and know, that everything else is silly, when set beside.

The big bad world is known to cower and lay right down as if dead, when once you threaten it proper, with an unpredictable pipe bomb of poetry, cocked and painted onto its cocky head.

My new book, Chaos Comes Apart, on Amazon:

https://smile.amazon.com/gp/r.html?C=2EIU1YSKTC6SW&K=WFT0JB3LJN3D&M=urn:rtn:msg:2020031021204095b1740d54b345db8aaec4cdad50p0na&R=1OIWENZKO66E0&T=C&U=https%3A%2F%2Fsmile.amazon.com%2Fdp%2FB085RN5WYV%3Fref_%3Dpe_3052080_397514860&H=WMGC3ZTDWE5L1ZBAOSWBAP3UGHEA&ref_=pe_3052080_397514860

107 pages, all original works. Most of these, probably 70% of them have never been published anywhere before.

They were written over just a handful of days, in a maelstrom of creative inspiration, given by the Goddess Venus, to whom the book is dedicated.

The themes are varied, mostly centering around the way our worlds expand and contract, sometimes pleasantly, other times frighteningly, sometimes with plenty of heads up and often, with our pants down.

Writing it helped me cope with some of my own, more challenging changes. I sincerely hope that reading it helps you adjust to yours.

Use the link here to find it, it is still settling in to Amazon’s search system, not quite coming up there, just yet. But this link takes you straight to the banks of the strange river, where your world might just be stretched out of and back into shape.

Enjoy.


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

conjunct neptune

The new book, Chaos Comes Apart is finished!

I’m exceedingly pleased with it and very proud to say that soon, a few days, it will be available for purchase on Amazon.

If you become a supporter of my Patreon page, with the next week, you’ll get a free .pdf copy of the book, regardless of which support tier you choose.

Chaos Comes Apart is a brand new work, most of which has NOT already been presented here. There are a couple of pieces that are already here but not many.

However, I did end up needing to expand it a little, from its original length of 75 pages, up to over a hundred. It was something about the guidelines for the spine size, for printing. Mercury retro hangups, as I see it. But that just means that you get even more for your money.

So, I also included in the final version, several older pieces, most of which had never been published, a few that had. So, it keeps with the theme of establishing patterns… and breaking them.

I’m also quite happy to announce that I have stumbled into the inspiration for the next book, as well!

The newest book is called “one pass by” and the theme is the interactions of the Moon, with each of the other Planets, as She cycles through the zodiac, each month.

You don’t need to know anything about astrology in order to enjoy the pieces, they’re standalone works of poetry. 

Each one spurs mental images , feelings and thoughts, without needing any training or understanding of the Planets, whatsoever.

That being said, if you do happen to know the basics of what the Planets represent to us, human type critters, you’ll be in on some of the jokes and insights, in the deeper layers of the pieces. It’s win/win, either way.

I present you now, one of the first pieces from the new series and I chose this one because I think, perhaps, you’ll find it amusing. It’s called “conjunct neptune”.

To whet your appetite for it, will explain that the Moon rules over feelings, emotions, the unconscious mind and how we go about resting, healing and nurturing, both ourselves and others.

Neptune is the God of the deep sea and rules everything to do with oceans. But He also rules illusions, delusions, intoxication, dreams and sleep. Knowing that, what you read next should make perfect sense.

Enjoy!


conjunct neptune

i think i’ve gotten

a little bit

of a nip

of a part, too thinky 

i need to boughten

some lit

of a tiny, or large, sip

of the drinky 

i think with a wink

to take the day off, is an excellent notion

and it’s severals of the excitings 

it will be to play about, lay

and noddedly to blink,

filling a trough, slipping into the potion

that’s more than enough writings 

for any, or one, or this, done, day


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

Morning Flies Far

Confounding the stupefied senses, the

syllabus, schedules of uninformed winner

you’ve reliably opened a festering wound,

spending lunch money upon trinkets of dinner

Empty the cup that was never quite full,

all the seats cold and audience, waiting 

there’s no more rind or gristle to eat

and no one left, to hear the debating

Slink down now into entertaining covers

and call it all finally done, for a life

wasted and somehow full of wonder,

no loud report, but fish round for a knife 

And instantly recall, in blissful drudgery,

some things can’t be cut by the cannon gun

whether eight more lines or only a million

some faces watch, from which you don’t run

Quiet cannibals, eating your sorrows

angels who lift any plagues from your land

mouths that sit, ready for morsels

morsels that come from only your hand

Sing now, with wretched rooster of morning

sing loud of his majesty and curse his name

take small solace in dimwitted knowledge…

no one is salvation and no one’s to blame


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

the old gal

she angles for the

best seat in the house 

if you don’t watch her,

she’ll own that retirement home 

she’s got to have the comfiest chair

clueless, tactless, all bad breath and 

weak knees

white hair stained teeth brittle bones

poor me looks and 

sighs of discontent,

her current frailty betrays memory 

of the once upon a time,

when she leapt over tall dreams 

never one for small talk, 

you always know exactly 

where you stand with her

she puts her charms to work on men 

and the women all want to be her friend 

now she snores the lazy day long

on infomercial couch

perpetual, old codger thirst

it takes precious time and strength 

to get off the sofa

so, she always manages to 

trick someone into getting 

a drink for her 

there are no children, no grandchildren 

no brothers or sisters 

there is only the waiting 

waiting for company to arrive 

and for dinner time 

she still appreciates touch

but tires of it easily; 

retreats to early bedtime 

old woman has no cats,

she doesn’t like them 

television holds no interest for her

she’s always been more of a

nature lover,

walking for hours, anywhere 

but even this is no longer suitable 

as the heat gets to her fast, these days 

and her weak legs 

no longer do their part

when strangers come around,

she is discourteous, 

barking cliches at them, 

to get off her damned lawn,

even though she 

doesn’t even have a lawn

her mind doesn’t work like yours or mine

it’s as if she thinks she’s in charge

but old friends are always welcome and 

she loves on their familiar faces,

kissing them on the cheek 

and sitting close to them,

imploring to make up for lost time 

she fails to recognize 

some people’s need

for personal space

old woman was fierce in her day

but her day is no more dawning 

and sun sets slowly on her 

throwing dim light on her white hair 

the old gal needs help sometimes,

going up and down the stairs

even needs help getting into bed,

she has a male nurse that softly 

raises her legs up and tucks her in

she must be bathed, 

because left to her own devices,

she won’t do it herself

her caretaker gently puts her in the tub,

soaps her up and washes her clean,

towel dries her and brings her a snack

that old people smacking sound 

happens more than ever before, 

that thing they do 

that makes it sound like 

a stoner just ate a bunch of 

peanut butter but lost their soda, 

so they can’t wash it down 

her appetite is still strong; 

she eats virtually 

anything you put in front of her, 

she’ll even steal food from your plate, 

if you leave the room

the old broad just ain’t got no manners

or shame 

she’s too old to worry what anyone 

thinks of her and far too busy 

with her endless naps

to notice the things they say…

she’s half deaf and half blind, anyhow 

the gal has skills, though

while she never had 

any formal schooling, 

she’s learned a great deal 

over the years in the school of life

and people are always 

impressed with her intelligence 

she’s been through good times and bad

she’s smart enough to know 

when to sit still, when to run 

and when to just play dead 

and wait it out 

while she ain’t too proud to beg 

for what she wants,

she can still flatter you out of

just about anything you’ve got,

with her aged eyes and soft company,

winning you over to her side,

every time 

despite the pitiful, poor manners, 

when this old woman sits next to you,

you know that you’re in the presence 

of a real, true friend,

the type that will defend you 

and tell you no lies

you feel love pouring off of her

and your every arrival at her house 

is  met with her rising up 

on those creaky old bones,

coming straight to the door, 

to welcome you inside 

she wears ridiculous things,

things designed for a girl 

half her age

as if she doesn’t understand her decline 

or just refuses to accept it, 

or both

and don’t be too alarmed 

if you catch her walking around naked

she’s not ashamed of her body, 

in the least

she’s capable of being a mean old bitch

when necessary 

but she won’t spare the energy for it

her nature is that of the lover, anyway 

she really got around, back in the day,

let everyone touch her, all over

it’s not always obvious

but a lot of the old birds

were good girls in name only, 

they let every guy in town rub them 

in that special spot,

the one they open their legs for

but we don’t judge her,

for its in her genetics to be 

loose in the streets, running wild

and accepting attention from all comers

loneliness is what she fears most,

she doesn’t tire of her friends company 

always wants them to stay longer, 

becomes anxious if she has to be alone 

the old gal is cemented into my heart, 

I love her, 

even though she rarely speaks 

she is a warm companion and 

they just don’t make ’em like that, 

no more

I talk to her and stroke her cheek and 

she lets me know with her eyes 

that it means the whole world to her

when she goes down for another nap, 

I curl up beside her 

no jello or cookies for her, 

just like a proper, English lady, 

she takes biscuits, instead

she doesn’t like hot coffee or hot tea,

she usually just drinks 

room temperature water 

despite all her demands for 

attention and her lack of 

personal hygiene 

and her being completely 

devoid of any social grace,

she’s a kind old gal 

and she’s this man’s best friend


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

the witch returns

For Carrie, on her birthday

white witch of of the primordial oceans

a sphere of Fire swims 

through vast expanses of deep, 

trudging, Gulf Stream, without end

the wake of each wave is a play space 

for Olokun’s children, bobbing up 

and over the water

delighting in their own weightlessness

waning lunar light glimmers

on the surface of an exoskeleton, 

a creature bearing a barb, 

sharp, it is a needle 

dipped in fiery nighttime 

whiplash smile, able to cut,

deep into the heart of urgent issues

or to hobble an enemy 

with vials of poison, 

whatever job need be done, 

that day

winged heels take to flight  

upon waves of air,

transmission of electronic signals, 

through waves of sightless ether,

collecting data and drops of dew

ideas float on currents, across 

all space and time

sharing a spot with the 

silver tongued trickster 

is a red man of war, atop a war horse, 

bedecked with invisible armor, 

as hard as a hundred mountains 

but light as a hummingbird’s breath

his sword drawn 

and leveled at the temples

of his foes, to skewer the craniums 

of intellectual fools, 

here in his compound of Air, 

he draws on his vast chalkboard, 

designing inventive new ways of war

the warrior’s consort is 

floating neither in Air, 

nor is she hold up in some rich, 

resplendent palace of Earth, 

neither does she take a dip 

in the immense pool of fish pairs

instead, she is bathed in Fire, 

full of wrath and vigor 

and the conquest of all things

she carves her name 

into the trunk of time

and carves the throat out of fear

the ancient architect 

hath built up for himself 

a strange structure, not his typical castle 

and not quite a chariot, 

with predictable, rolling wheels 

nay, his world walks, tank-like, upon on 

an assortment of odd, spindly stalks,

grabbing at the ground, 

drawing their meals

in with Mesozoic pinchers, 

pulling each meal into a small mouth, 

where the Lord of Time 

consumes his peculiar fish

all these dance and sway and spiral,

without end

all chuckle, change and challenge,

wrapped in a weird package, labeled friend


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

Fat Gold Mystery

Plums in the pot, bubbling, bubbling

Custard in the pan, cooling, cooling

Logs in the fire, crumbling, crumbling

Infant on the rug, drooling, drooling

Rooftop primed with snow,

Sprinkled brown leaves, like

Shavings of chocolate, on vanilla ice cream

The world is new, and remade 

Every day

Fashioned; 

Threshed out, by the tools 

Of possibilities


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Magus72 on Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

untitled

Universe Collapsing

Constant Arousal

Continual Unravelling

If you are Quiet…

You will Hear

If you Look…

You will See…

Nothing


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

Conjure Work

antiverse

blogspot

waste

my love is dancing

in your sleep

and you, here now…

all a waste,

in your flight,

an empty, 

downward embrace 

return we, 

to one,

when you, pointed,

lick the 

ground

touch the girl’s insides

but realize…

empty   s pa  c  e

is what 

comes

not-one, 

for timidity’s sake 

the eyes cast lots 

of salty war

upon his gorgeous shelter

they still marvel 

at your lame,

dead hero 

a shady vision of candy dilemma 

bump the mouthful of riches

stick precise flesh 

between 

fast, clever eyes

us, to hollow leaves,

we went

and to ash

and for this, 

but a tangle 

of whispers, 

am i


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Take a look at my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. Patrons-only content will be available, over there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

bell

just as

a lover does

god

wishes to be

wooed

cried out for,

desired

hunted

I have called…

now,

for a

great

time

and

I am

weary

my eyes,

heavy

from the

looking out

my voice, tired

I am become

as a

sounding

bell

a chiming

in the darkness

an echo of

an echo

of a long

ago

heard only by

the ear

that sits close

to the mouth

who uttered

the sound

in the beginning

sound…

the genesis

of all things

beginning is

answered

only by

ending

god

not

somewhere

in the circuit

between

mouth

and

ear

instead,

there is only

mouth,

the ear

words,

the space

silence

between

yearning,

not knowing,

finding

remembering

and forgetting

loneliness

crying out

in the wilderness

for the return

home


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

I am getting back on to my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. But other, patrons-only content will be available to patrons, there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

Art Matters

I wrote a post, over at ConjureWork.com that I feel is important. It pertains to art, poetry, music and accurate thinking and how we all need it more than we may realize.

Rather than recreate it here, I’m just linking it: Art Matters.

somewhere in wilmington

somewhere in wilmington

waiting and wilting

baiting and quilting

an intricate weave

an alluring network of delicacies

through hell bent phosphorescent mind

of elder kinsmen magician sort

what to say

of lovers and wise men,

scoundrels and boys in the sticks

and creative stories:

hey, is that true?

no. it’s made up and so

we believe it

because it’s a wonderful rose

that grows

incandescent strobe light wonderful

god, i love that word:

wonderful

it’s not quite said enough

yet, says enough

and yet, not 

and therefore…

much more, you see?

it’s simple

and silly, yes.

after all,

isn’t everything?

it is in wilmington

things often stated

rather matter-of-fact-ly 

like ideas that 

hit you in the lung,

real wonderful like;

something like joy

like knowing it will all be o.k.

even though you 

really don’t know that

it will all be o.k.;

like finding out that 

your brain will 

chase its own tail, if you let it

and not making that mistake again

and not hiring woe

to spend all your money

woe?

oh, no.

i apologize.

the subject was joy.

or was it wonderfulness? (;)

or was it wilmington? (;)

or was it silliness? (;)

i believe it may have been 

willingness;

willingness to accept certain things;

to accept the fact that

you is you 

and you

is the only you

you get, you.

they do forget you.

one way or another, brother,

they forget you

wake up

and you realize 

that this is the 

karmic scheme of things

and many dreams it brings,

in the wee small hours,

that seem like days

because you’ve been dreaming 

for years

that you were 

really here

but you were really

just asleep 

and dreaming 

that you were

awake

and

baked

somewhere

in 

wilmington

quiet

an original poem

floating in a soup

of strange sounds.

listen to the track,

watch the video.

but do it quietly.

Here is an mp3 of the song,

free to download.

quiet_magus72_the_plastic_infinity.mp3

share liberally,

it’s better that way.

Copyright 2020, Kevin Trent Boswell (Magus)

a glass of yesterdays

at nineteen

I was smitten with a girl

who loved gin and tonic

she was a preacher’s daughter

in South Carolina

I discovered that 

all of what people say

about preacher’s daughters

is blissfully true

I introduced her to

the bubbly summer fizz

and she introduced me to…

well, let’s just say… 

I learned to mix 

a mean 

gin and tonic

as she lay beside me,

naked and asleep 

on that motel bed,

I took tequila shots 

and reveled in the majesty of 

Austin City Limits

the television and I,

both sloppy drunk 

with the sounds 

of John Hammond

slurring curses through 

a mouth harp,

the tube on his finger 

causing that steel guitar 

to scream bloody murder

and holler for its momma

I sat stupefied 

on the edge 

of a cheap mattress,

covered in awe 

and still coated 

with her

Delta Blues cut 

jagged holes

into my memory, 

with its muddy banks

flesh, sights, screams,

wailing demons

and wobbling fingers

only a cheap television screen

and a cigarette ash,

backlighting 

the carnal event

she, now quiet on the bed

Hammond on the screen,

now brutally howling 

as if in some type of 

infernal pain

a blistering welt 

from the bite of a hell hound,

now sulking somewhere 

in the mosquito-infested 

darkness

“Oh!!! Say, 

my momma don’t allow me…

to stay out 

aaaaall night long!”

I, now 

consumed completely 

by cactus juices 

and cascades 

of flaming guitar notes,

flying out of the 

Devil’s fingertips

I straighten my back 

and draw in closer 

to breathe in her hair

then, toward the television screen 

and I fall sleepily beneath 

the heavy spell 

of it all

now, 

standing in a friend’s kitchen,

I think back

on all of it

I spy a bottle of gin

with a little less than 

a shot left in it

I open the fridge

lo and behold,

a fresh bottle of 

tonic water

I mix the two

and raise 

a toast

to the various potions 

of summer’s forgetfulness…

to the southern gene pool, 

with its extraordinary ability

to produce the most 

exquisite specimens 

of the female form…

to the Delta blues

its vinyl static,

scratched into my soul…

to John Hammond,

masterful and 

merciless…

to the claw marks 

on my back…

to the fear 

of Jesus


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

I am getting back on to my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. But other, patrons-only content will be available to patrons, there.

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

filter

when I was a child, my aunt told me

that if rain fell while the sun was shining,

it meant the Devil was beating his wife

I never had the slightest clue

what it meant 

but today, 

it may just be true…

for the sky drips purple wax 

on slippery horizon

flickers bright with 

wick dipped in fire,

angels of sun, 

showering out plumes 

of fractal light

something vast, immense 

holds space between sparse clouds

a light spray of water 

cascades over my vehicle 

and busy spirits of air 

float and move about,

vying for better positions

I move intentionally, 

purposefully through the scene,

hurried to escape a day

that will not be missed

hurdling over a variety of nonsense

machine churns over road…

not as fast as I imagine it should 

not enough ground 

falls between myself and 

all that I seek 

to leave behind

I am allowed to briefly glimpse 

a pristine, white mare 

eating peacefully in the pasture 

by the side of the highway

she is without blemish 

and without any earthly substance

she is something etheric, 

angelic and full of joy

(or so I imagine her to be)

she never sees me

she has no idea 

who I am 

and so… I am 

utterly and completely 

jealous of her

I have not been filtered 

through the windows of her eyes

I have not polluted the peaceful

realm of her mind

with all of my chaos

there is, for her, 

only eating and walking 

and other things 

of equal pleasure

she has no idea who I am…

and neither do I

still, I drive by 

and for something 

not exactly a second 

and not quite a lifetime,

I live vicariously through her

perhaps the breadth of a heartbeat

in looking on her, 

tasting the carefree grass of her world,

I am for one, solitary moment, 

free from Samsara

I have no hurt, no rage,

only a sky full of purple wax 

and preoccupied angels,

angels who watch 

over the quiet beasts 

that are the mare 

and myself

angels who possess 

wider eyes

eyes 

that screen out the dross,

placing a clearer lens over it all

I breathe in my quick look 

at what serenity is dancing 

just beneath the veneer

and for a frozen moment, 

the mare and I 

are both

full


Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Patreon

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work


I am getting back on to my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/magus72

I’ll be cross-posting here, what I publicly post, over there. But other, patrons-only content will be available to patrons, there.

The Kitchen Floor

From my book, in the current,

available at ConjureWork.com

The Kitchen Floor

the orange octagon pattern

on the linoleum

looks to me

like a mandala

it reminds me

that there is

symmetry

in everything;

in the trees,

in your smile

some think the

idea of a

high divinity,

attributed to

inanimate objects,

is foolish and

childlike,

a quirk of immature intellect,

comical ideas

about cycles

and karma

under various names

and guises

but the physicists tell me

that all the atoms

of my body

(and yours, too)

came from stars,

in distant galaxies,

so many years ago

that it cannot even be imagined…

that we are,

literally,

star dust

every time you breathe,

you inhale

molecules of air

that were once

the same breaths

of air

taken in by kings, queens,

murderers, trees,

you name it.

we are all parts of each other.

The people around you

really do

rub off on you.

perhaps my kitchen floor

now holds a molecule

that was once

part of a hair

on Mozart’s head

or, maybe a fingernail

of Christ’s

or, a piece of

the Buddha’s skin

I’ve heard it said that

if you sit in one place,

long enough,

the whole world will

pass by

but I need not wait

my orange,

octagonal mandala

already contains

the whole

of the universe

Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

Magus & The Plastic Infinity

antiverse

blogspot

Conjure Work

oh to weep

oh to weep

to feel the tears, gliding
the joy that is a chasm
of painful knowledge,
the dark heart of
recognition

to gaze into the
eyes of suffering
and see its immense love for you
to peer into ecstasy,
become… fully…
cognizant…
of its ambivalence

to gasp and choke
on crumbs of empty space
to burn with hunger
at the brimful table of eternity;
the hall is so large,
the table so long, that
the head chair sits far,
outside the kingdom…
the queen is, by definition,
in permanent exile

her hound sounds
a trumpet of returning,
to the entrance,
where all exits
meet in a hollow nexus

its howling pierces stars
and summons perception
a doleful remembering
of cheer, unborn
a triumphant, vigorous celebration
on stages of victory,
a victory that needed
to do nothing but roll out of bed
and put on pants…
the rest was a seamless
unfolding of breath and
muscle memory

thick troubles,
shaped from
thin dust
and triumph,
collected in buckets;
it falls nightly…
no requisite asking,
pleading with fate,
to set aside its sickle
but for an hour

no prayers ascend
all prayers ascend

trouble no more for joys,
imagined leprosies that they are

sing no more praises of defeats
leaden, decrepit bullion

all these… fancies
dancing echoes

there are but few
frail glimpses
and each,
its own
meaningless
useless
miracle

 

Copyright 2020

Magus

(Kevin Trent Boswell)

https://antiverse.webs.com

https://trentboswell.blogspot.com/

https://conjurework.com

https://www.patreon.com/magus72