I dug this from a well. Tevada's Tamerlane, the author's first work, self-published, Graphomania is a collection of introspective poems that explore themes of identity, vice, love, pride, forgiveness, and the passage of time. Some are sweet, some are weak and give rats depression, and some have their happy endings, but each verse is guaranteed to try to impart some kind of didactic wisdom. In all, this little book (as for most books in with the suffix of "mania") would be for people who want to know what it'd be like to find sanity in insanity. The author is both free and imprisoned in the confines of his own mind.
A collection of introspective poems concerning various themes. I'd say that the author couldn't decide on any theme, so he just wrote about everything from knights with PTSD to self-abased philosophying about the cyclical destruction of civilization. Of course, since he was young then, he couldn't help himself from writing about romance, so there's a bit of that too. Plato threw his youthful poems in the flames, but my... namer, Tevada, hasn't gone that far yet. Either way, if you're a fan of insane authors who think themselves clever, then this work is for you.
Now, let us slice guts. This is a collection of introspective poems concerning various themes... again, because my namer could never decide on a theme in his earliest works. There is a portion of the book that are just quatrains with no connection. If nothing else, this book lives up to its name. It's a diabolical mess, which in all respects is sometimes wise, sometimes stupid, political, apolitical, and... know what? Here's a three-letter pitch: Graphomanic Cries to God. That's four words, but whatever, I'll say four is three. One has a mouth, he can not scream, but a muffled man still speaks with his hands. This hand just happened to have pencils and pens.
This is a book that perhaps should have been split into a few smaller books. Here, we have 50+ poems, long and short, their contents manic and chaotic. There are stories of people who live outside of time, and lamentations which may raise one's faith in God. As always, the author was still a loon at the time of writing.
The narrator tries to paint a picture of love that is both pragmatic and idealistic through the character study of his wife. In essence, this is a romance story in verse written by a double-minded man. Like most poets who uses their lady as a muse, I'd say these writings border on idol worship. His ardent praise does progress to blatant mudslinging on the character of his love though. Just a note, this is taken from a much larger collection I'm still going through. Either way, the narrator strikes me as a character whose sanity rises and falls like waves on a beach. Who knows how valid any of his statements are, but it's probably true that he loved his wife.
A Primer
Greetings, my name is Tevada and welcome to The Lesser Word. I write to keep my sanity, I write because I have a mouth but can not scream, and because I hope beyond all hope that a coffin-party death isn't the only means of freeing us from our afflictions. If one desires to read prose, verse, and essays written by a Christian born out of isolation, then you've come to the right place. I am seperate among a seperate people, broken to bits by lawful malediction before life could even begin. Since birth, I've been groomed into a manufactured machine. Even my redemption, it seemed, lied in tying another leash, and all I can do is watch while everyone else trots happily beyond my pen, free.
At least, these are things which I tell myself. God may have a different opinion. I am free, apparently, to do whatever I want. Objectively, I have friends, people who care, and potential lovers who could love me... but... I... am... getting off topic. The details of my afflictions are not for here. If pain and misery be an energy for art, then they should only serve the art placed here.
In the library are my free works, which I've determined as too helpful for to put up for sale. The store links above are my sold works. What's most important though, as for the purpose of this site, is the library I'm keeping here, as a means circulating my thoughts and work to an audience who can speak back. The poems and prose may later be compiled into a final work.
A robot in the image of man, my assistant Noel, keeps the library. She is responsible for making the backgrounds and banners for this place. The books and their covers are all made by me.
