Waiting for Beatriz: Oil Painting from Vesper Heliotropic the Graphic Novel

Waiting for Beatriz Oil Painting from Vesper Heliotropic the Graphic Novel by Neal Cormier

Waiting for Beatriz Oil Painting from Vesper Heliotropic the Graphic Novel by Neal Cormier



14. Beatriz

Camille was standing in front of a set of massive mahogany doors surrounded by the stark white of a barren antique hallway. She could feel the cool air pushing through the marble and steel of the stairway behind her. The doors had ball bearing hinges with square and circular portals of double beveled glass. Continue Reading…


Camille Sketch for Graphic Novel 2

These sketches are the first draft sketches; inklings or the zygote for the Graphic Novel Series Vesper Heliotropic.

This will be issue #2. You can find issue #1, Here.

Camilles Room Vesper Heliotropic Graphic Novel Series

Camilles Room Vesper Heliotropic Graphic Novel Series

6. Ein München Mädchen

RD AUTO Message 162: Fri 4, Octobre 2086 – Fairview, VA Main-Line USC – CAMBIAN – SUBURBAN ‘Inner Crust’ Territory: ‘MM-PS 255 Munich District 5’

“Rachael!” shouted her mom’s high pitched voice from downstairs.

“Yessssss, Mother! It’s Camille now by the way!”

There was no answer. And then…

“Don’t forget your make-up!” her mom’s faint voice could now barely be made out.

“Ugh.” Rachael said to herself.

“Okay!” she yelled back, vein and limply.

Rachael sat upright on the edge of her bed, her widish butt planted deep within pillows and Tynker Animals lying about, her legs pretzeled Indian style. There were disheveled bra straps under a Thyn white T-shirt falling off one shoulder as she constantly pulled it up only to have it recede back to her upper arm. Her room was fairly tidy with printed posters, arrays of ads, a large mirror to her right along with bottles and cheap makeup.

Short little mounds of laundry were shoved to the edges of the soft lightly tinted carpet, pink. Pinkish. Large suburban bedroom windows obscured the bright room of its details, shafting a morning glow of dreaming breakfast. Rachael had been fantasizing about strawberry pancakes in the City on this particular day. Sometimes it was boys, other times a nice mental round of fantasy morning sex with a sibling.

A short blonde bob swayed back and forth, back and forth, as she browsed with her hands through multitudes of  levitating virtual options; left to right, left to right, her gaze, preceding her arms, crisscrossing over and over…

She was scrolling through dozens of Day-Theme posters, one after another, as each one disappeared, only to have another colorful Pop-Band Day Theme poster reappear in midair.

The silhouette of a factory and some kind of penal institution cut a panorama straight across the blank yellow and blue dawning sky in one poster that read: “FinnLaNDIK, the New Album! DEISANIK CELL BLOCK LINE P344, PRODUCT CO.”

Another: “‘BEAT A BITCH UP FO’ YA SQUIRD ON HA,’ Shokolok, the New Album OUT NOW!”

A slight whopping sound then blossomed a little blonde Whyte Gurl with crystal blue eyes from out of Thyn air. Multicolored signs, banners, and comic blurbs trailed from out her mouth like live flying drool. In a stark yet softly aggressive female voice, came…

All New Finally Fourteen Perfume, straight from the company that brought you Fexalot Smart-Maquillage!

Rachael continued to page through the transparent spherical depth of the floating View like she were swatting at flies she could never catch. Each poster retracted in a circle upon moving to the next like a moving clothing line. The receding Posters disappeared behind the one she was Viewing in a half-circle.  Band after band, soap bar after soap bar flew by, NeauDolls, Cereals and ‘Biono-Lymbs with All-Free Cosma-Surgery When You Buy Two!’

“KENSON AUDI DAY!” one of them read with an absurdly blunt solid pink and purple border with shimmering translucent photo of the band, focusing especially on its front man, Gary Sake next to his one and only Hoe-bag, Merry-Eight. It was a kind of Great American Autumn scene. Sun shot through the profile of an inner city alleyway, buildings climbing up the sides of the lucid shot. The three other band members stood obscure next to the two ‘partners in crime,’ gusting steamy breath in kissing each other next to a dumpster as trash fell like leaves from tenement roofs. A caption imbedded inside a hot pink heart graphic floating on a cartoon cloud suspended below the poster, read: “Pick your Fexer ‘Day-Theme’ from any Movie, Musician, Artist, or Media Fyle!”

“Put together a Soundtrack for each emotion and event with Emo-Life Readers!”

Give Your Life a Soundtrack!” read yet another translucency of pink background and navy lettering View-Blurb hovering around her ear for some reason until she batted the annoying pitch, as if with enough force to chuck it directly out of existence…. ….Read More of Vesper Heliotropic Book I. Crystal Turbines Here!

God’s Good Earthen Soil – Dystopic Sci-Fi – Vesper Heliotropic Excerpt

She also and weirdly, knew that his daughter was no longer ‘present’ on God’s Good Earthen Soil, either. Harietta Damiand had died in a horrible Hover accident involving several or more automobiles. She was nine at the time of her death.

He had loved her, like Daddy’s do. Or like, Daddy’s can. To complicate things, Johanna, his wife was going senile. Her sudden dementia was combatted with restructuring software and everything, but in the end, she just slipped away.

This made things more convenient for him of course, especially. Harietta had been made of God’s Good Flesh when she lived. She was made of God’s Own Good Born Silicate and now, well now, she was made of wood. Dr. Damiand, resurrected her by copying what the Intra-Portable Equiv-MRI Bot, that is, the brain software, had recorded…

…Read More of Vesper Heliotropic Book II. RACHAEL Here!

Vesper Heliotropic Dystopic Sci-Fi Novel

Terror Is a Medium.

Terror Is a Medium.
Waiting for the idea to make its final approach.
My feet are getting weighty inside dress shoe sneakers.

My dress is black and I can feel appendages gathering light from under me.
Somewhere I know this is being written down at the pace of my ankles on a new bit of curled up receipt.
I am walking now.

I am walking.
I hear the bombast.
The ramparts!
Drums behind the skitter of strollers and somber cloak periodicals.
I am a pilot of which the avenue moves about me.
No longer the diligence of staring, but only to travel that course.
I will send them to the moon.
I will send them to the maelstrom.

They will grow tired of The Whirlpool when they put on their ThinkingCaps.

Coming up 4th street…Read More of Vesper Heliotropic Book I. Crystal Turbines…


She’s A Party Member Vesper Heliotropic eBook II. RACHAEL