Fiercely Interdependent

This blog is no longer being updated. Those interested in the work of Charles Dickey, writer and occasional dabbler in music and visual art, should mosey on over to charlesdickey.com, which is updated weekly. Filed under: fantasy, fiction, horror, illustration, poetry, publishing, Uncategorized, wri

Well, here’s a surprise: this is a blog entry. I’ve just moved and am going through notebooks and many other things, sorting out my life in this new house, and I have rediscovered a blue notebook with the cover done up in a collage. Part of the text on the collage cover reads: positive curvature, [.

This blog has been dead. It’s tentative epitaph was written over at Atmospheric Games, which is an entirely different sort of place than this. I’ll be updating Atmospheric Games with maps for role-playing games, and some other nonsense. And I was going to move on from here to there. But when I aband

Tools  allow you to build things. They are the things human culture is made of. Animals for the most part do not use tools. An argument might be made for exceptional animals such as the tool-using platypus of ancient South America. This mammal was a bipedal duck-billed tool-using fool. The tool-usin

One July day, Henry wandered through the cobblestone streets of his hometown, looking for work.  He wasn’t exactly sure what kind of work he wanted to do, but he knew it had to do with the words and ideas rummaging around in his head, keeping him up nights, pestering him with their unanswerable ques

At age 15, like all boys in small cities in Carolina in 1991, Henry was given license to drive.  He didn’t have to request it; it just was, at least to Henry that’s how it seemed.  The world seemed to move around him like scenery being shuffled past him while he ran on a treadmill.  [...]

“Here I stand, on nothing.  My principles are all being undermined by the vast waste of consumer culture.  In this, the decline of western civilization, could it be that your most astute children, smarter and wiser than you, are being crushed by the spiritless machinations of the marketplace?  How w

I recently joined the Year Zero Writers collective, where I’ll be uploading pieces of a longer, untitled work-in-progress, which I will simply call Mullwiler until a more suitable title presents itself. The first three sections of Mullwiler are already up at Year Zero, and I am going to cross-post t

Beyond the Nest of Pestilence The Nest The ogre hole had been clean. The nest of pestilence was not. A shockwave slowly crawled out from the nest; like a time-lapse film image of decay, it spread. The Things that the Nest Spawned They were not critters. They were not vines, although they crept along