DSC05632Though Babylon seems far now, at times, we must remember that it is everywhere. Still, here the air is thicker with oxygen and lighter on the syntaxes of abomination propped up by flimsy & counterfeit silicon birthrights, available to all for the price of nothing more than a bowl of GMO pottage. Now when I look skyward, I no longer see the faces of the Goddesses, those shadowy masks all puffed up with the pride of the entrepreneur, yet still cognizant enough of their own baseness to never show their true forms outright.

DSC05542.JPGTheirs is a landscape of esoteric brushstrokes lambasted onto the blank surface of the glorious, honest mundane. The effect is quite garish to those who have worked at strengthening the intuition by the simple and oft-repeated exercise of looking around at the world, rather than simply turning left or right at every one of the prescribed road signs one sees along life’s neatly planned & immaculately maintained picture-postcard highway system.

We are still here, for those of you who have asked, though we are no longer there. We are somewhere new. Everything I write from this new place applies to Brittany as well as to myself. As individuals, the two of us often find ourselves at odds over this or that trifle or crumb of manifesting thought-spark, but as editors, yes as editors we speak with one voice. Sometimes as we traversed the spires below the Goddesses’ rigid robes, we thought we saw careful traps laid there to snare us. Fortunately, our enemies in their vanity can’t resist advertising openly, making them easy to avoid.

DSC05771.JPGThere were also quiet places, places of simple contentment, and sometimes we found one nestled away in an unlikely spot, and there would be an old woman playing piano in the half-light like a melancholy, soft weeping for all that we have lost, nay, impulsively given away whenever our minds became unnavigable with obstructions and we desired a surcease of our painful conceptions. On the wall beyond a lily-embellished balustrade, perceptible only as the candlelight chanced to dance its way through the open spaces, I spied a coat of arms and, pointing it out to my companion, we were reminded that there would be a bill to pay at the close of evening.

And we were reminded of the Goddesses, they who oversee & they who collect on all debts with no outwardly visible actions on their part, just their stern & mysterious presence, and we knew that sooner or later we would be forced to leave, not just our dining table, but their entire domain, as they were growing more powerful by the day and we, too sensitive to exist within their widening sphere of influence indefinitely.

I can’t keep writing about the same thing forever.

James Bradley
May 1, 2018, Portland, Oregon

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Contra Equum Niveum:

This certainly is very easy to comprehend. The difficulty, therefore, is elsewhere; there is a lower sphere of understanding which has no intimation of true love, of love in and for itself, and of this blessedness in itself. The difficulty is that a great multiplicity of illusions will hold a man down in this lower sphere of understanding where deception and being deceived signify exactly the opposite of what they signify in the infinite conception of love. According to this view to be deceived signifies simply and solely to quit loving, to be carried away to the point of abandoning love in and for itself, and in this way to lose its intrinsic blessedness. For only one deception is possible in the infinite sense—self-deception. One need not infinitely fear them who are able to kill the body; to be killed is, infinitely, no danger; nor is the kind of deception the world talks about a danger. And, again, this is not difficult to understand. The difficult thing is to fullfill the task of acquiring the true conception of love or, better yet, to become the true lover. For he defends himself against deception and fights to preserve himself in the true love precisely by believing all things. But the illusion will continually obtrude itself as does the illusion which maintains that the sun moves, although one still knows that it is the earth.”

Søren Kierkegaard

A man may loathe a thing in the abstract for years, and find at last that all the time he has been, in his own person, guilty of it. To carry a thing under our cloak caressingly, hides from us its identity with something that stands before us on the public pillory. Many a man might read this and assent to it, who cages in his own bosom a carrion-bird that he never knows for what it is, because there are points of difference in its plumage from that of the bird he calls by an ugly name.”

-George MacDonald


Hexagon Press would like to thank the four featured writers of Vol. V for their reflections on the nature of truth, which we present in this volume as poetic admissions and/or denials that are both true and untrue. They exist among the great mysteries that acquire their form through symbols that are fashioned into catch phrases and triggers:

she died
so young
so beautiful…”

The mantra repeats.


Ric Carfagna was born and educated in Boston Massachusetts. He is the author of numerous collections of poetry, most recently: Symphonies Nos. 5,& 9 published by White Sky Books.

Adrian Encomienda was born in Phoenix, Arizona in 1995. His writing, both fiction and non fiction, touches on the esoteric concepts. His short story, “Cicatrin” will appear in Dark Gothic Resurrected Summer 2017 issue. His work has been in numerous magazines both online and in print.

M Kitchell is an artist & yogi whose primary concerns include levitation, the impossible, and hunting the void. The author, most recently, of Hour of the Wolf (Inside the Castle, 2016) and Island (Void Editions, 2015), he lives and works in the Bay Area.

And with a special contribution by Craig McVay.

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Free copies of CONTRA EQUUS NIVEUS Vol. IV will soon be available at Adobe Books + Arts Cooperative, City Lights Bookstore, Dog Eared Books, Alley Cat Books, and Bound Together Anarchist Collective Bookstore in San Francisco, as well as Pegasus Books in Berkeley and E.M. Wolfman in Oakland. If you are outside of the Bay Area and would like a copy, write to us with your mailing address and we’ll send one free of charge, stock permitting.

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Hexagon Press will be celebrating the release C.E.N Vol. V: Contra Equum Niveum at the Casemore Kirkeby group exhibition opening for Option to the Death of Freedom, curated by Petra Bibeau. Copies of the new issue will be available during the opening of the exhibition and thereafter while copies last.

Saturday, November 4th, 2017
6:00pm to 8:00pm

1275 Minnesota Street #102
San Francisco, CA, 94107 United States

The full announcement of the exhibition can be found here.

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Is the whiteness of your garment soiled at the hem from hiding deep inside that holy well? You are as your other sisters, in melancholic grace beside your father, time. Your song reverberates beneath the ground but never passes the remnants of the water’s edge and your face glows with ineffable serenity when the moon passes overhead.

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C O N T R A   E Q U U S   N I V E U S ●
Contra Equum Niveum”


For the final volume of Contra Equus Niveus, which we have entitled “Contra Equum Niveum” in deference to the niceties of Latin grammar, Hexagon press would like to conclude (this phase of) its polemic against the white horse by considering the multifaceted nature of ERROR, and how it expands exponentially, rhythmically shifting between the poles of naiveté and malice. Error can serve to both reinforce and obscure the truth, to the extent that one can act in error while believing to serve truth (as it is perceived by the mind) and, as this process unfolds, become increasingly aware of lingering error, using it as a launching point upon a shore which is now that much closer to the sought-after truth. Sometimes it is an outside rupturing of truth penetrating inward that can rise in the form of a great calamity to reveal how far astray illusion has led reason, ever acting with the best of intentions, in its course across the heavens.

The question thus reappears throughout the ages, each time seemingly more expansive and allusive than its previous incarnation, yet at the same time unchanging and perennial, and presents itself to us once again: What is real and what is fake? The increased blurring of these terms seems to ride alongside the progression of time and leads us, today, to ask ourselves: where does POETRY lie in all of this and does it too move within the paradigmatic spectrum of truth and falsehood? Is deception an impure amalgamation of both, since it must ride upon truth in order to unleash its falsity? How can a poem become fraudulent within the closed realm of subjectivity that grants such unlimited freedoms to poet and reader both? To put it in the mundane terms of our current “socio-political” crisis of falsehood and misdirection: in an era of “fake news,” is “fake poetry” also a danger which must be considered?

Submission Guidelines:

Previously unpublished poems and short prose (500 words or less) that consider these things.

Please include a short biographical statement (50 words or less) with each submission.

Email all submissions as attachments (.doc or .pdf only) to hexagonpoetics@gmail.com.

Broadsheet Number Five will be printed in an addition of 200 individually numbered, cardstock sheets.


James Bradley & Brittany Ham,
Co-Editors, Hexagon Press

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There is the master who transcends likeness (for He is not any one thing but all things) and there is the master who wears a different robe for every servant who seeks his knowledge and his favor. In his myriad of forms he is inherently the same and the finitude of Earth’s covering grants him unlimited power within the temporal horizon. His simultaneous liberation and confinement elicits a call of worship and his temples may assume any shape, so long as they fall within dimensional bounds and are adorned in the embellishments of the ages. Mammon interplays the past and the future and sanctifies his key attribute, which is the forever now. Many of his servants know nothing of him and he has consecrated many of his temples subliminally and given each their own codex.


And this master has power over the senses and he projects sensations of light and sound as cool effusions of painted air rise out of his temples. The native underbrush shivers quietly in the distance daring not to approach the clearing immediately surrounding the structure’s finely-wrought outer gates. There are many thousands of these temples intermixed across the landscapes and they each hide in the guise of physicality, taking whatever incarnation they please – for they can become anything that exists within the closed world of things. To defy Mammon is to gesture towards an absence, the expression of which is both a medium and consequence. The symbol is half rooted in the real and is the vessel to which a thought may attach itself.  The dedicated objects of worship are painfully detailed so that their beauty both overshadows and reinforces Mammon’s teachings simultaneously.


Traces of his paradise in the natural word, as seen by his followers, are found in the gilded veins of leaves hanging motionless beneath the late summer sun and in the cascading bands of finely-spun silk stretched across the ends of the earth, undulating in the lightness of their weave. The colors move in and out of one another in one fluid sweeping motion as the brightness of their tones casts different values of light across the earth. The weight of the rose in full bloom causes it to recede into the blackness between its overlapping branches. Blankets of leaves marbled with yellow and green tones extend out into the distance. The sky and the land are equally saturated with color and appear as if they shared the same plane – and in the council of Mammon, nature is most beautiful when it bears the qualities of that which is made and brought into being by the will.

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Dante_Homer_VirgilEditors’ Introduction: The following is the concluding entry in a two-part series of posts by guest contributor Scath Beorh on the topic of “Mythopoetics.” Part one, which offers definitions of the various mythopoetic categories, can be found here. In this concluding section, Beorh elaborates on the nature of Mythopoetics and discusses the role of the mythopoet in a society in need of divine guidance. We again would like to thank Scath for allowing us to feature his work.



The mythopoet not only trusts no man to lead him—for the promises of God are his foundation—he also nurtures a distrust of all socio-political assertions. At the same time he honors them so that those who follow them can see the light he carries without being able to find fault with him. This measure is principal for the mythopoet who has not only seen the isolation of his own beliefs, but watches the suppression of ancient wisdom at the hands of dogma designed to maintain control of a fragile paradigm threatened by the power of righteousness. Babylon can be found everywhere that righteousness asserts itself. In churches as well as in governments; in universities and well as in the local grange, the insidious creep of control over the people may be found.

Mythopoïesis—the primary tool of the true poet—carries a three-fold purpose:

  • To provide a constructive thesis to use as a guideline for abundant living full of creative and godly imagination;
  • To supply a synthesis of all truths as they relate to Logos Predication;
  • To impart a destructive antithesis equipped to pull down insufficient and aspects of life that have fallen sway to sinister paradigms.

The mythopoet imposes his vision upon a place, refusing to accept a paradigm from it. He weaves a variegated tapestry, often writing of anything and everything. As with any proven artisan, he has his constant—his underlying theme which bleeds through even his most bizarre and seemingly disassociated works.

The creative imagination of the mythopoet is a righteousness-seeking and righteousness-intensifying talent which creates a true vision of reality. He has taken it upon himself to write, and re-write, history if necessary—keeping in mind the ancient mandate that the seanachie, or lore-keeper, should never change the most important facts which work as the unamendable fabric of the narrative. Any rewriting that the poet does is to be done in the spirit of clarification where core truths have been tampered with. It is the very Logos who gives the mythopoet his magical, conscious, far-reaching, and seeing mind needed to maintain the received narrative. With this work of the protection of received wisdom, the mythopoet, as with any seer of the people, may be found at work with narrative that at first may be seen as new lore and undocumented legend, but later understood as valid primeval symbolism and celebrated archaic vision kept hidden by the ancients, thus thought lost.

Mythopoïesis carries the distinct ability to raise history to a different power, and as a body of work is read and re-read, the student moves to higher and higher ground. The mythopoet actually writes place into existence, and destroys soured or profaned places that prove themselves unnecessary to a rightwise existence. Further, the mythopoet reveals his co-creative connection to the Logos by bringing into existence places previously nonexistent.

The linear historian skews what happened in order to propagate the narrative of the dominant paradigm, no matter how profane. The mythopoet, though, writes into existence what should have happened, and so it does happen on some other—and far more important—plane of being. Therefore, mythopoïesis stands as a more philosophical and serious activity than historical writing.

Poets who cause loss of face are not usually desired as comrades, and are persecuted, if not by governments, then by the critics who claim to speak for the people. Friendship and estrangement, however, are the same for the mythopoet, for he sees no one as his enemy and all as potentially ready to hear his message of righteousness and atonement with the Logos. He feels secure in the arms of the One who goes before him. In this place of rest, the mythopoet finds both his peace and his voice as he seeks a rightwise existence in each moment of his life. As the Logos walks with him in the cool of the day, he stands in awe of that Presence and, with eternal gratitude, realizes his atonement with this selfsame Presence.

The mythopoet is called to magnanimous duty, and to shirk this calling is to run from communion with the Logos.

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Scáth Beorh writes stories permeated with themes of violence, brutality, anguish, punishment, magical realism, and blurred lines between this and the afterlife. Sometimes veiled and at times more overt sarcasm about Christian values and moral inconsistencies underline an ingenious design behind the entertaining tales. The quality of the writing and storytelling indicate an extremely well-informed and competent storyteller. Beorh is the author of the novel The Vampires Of Dreach Fola (JWK, 2016), the story collections Children & Other Wicked Things (JWK, 2013) and Classic Ghost Stories (Editor, Crucifixion Books, 2017), the poetic study Dark Sayings Of Old (JWK, 2013), and the novels The Witch Of Ballinascarty (Ghostley Books, 2017) and Pinprick (Ghostley Books, 2017). Forthcoming works include The Annotated Nephilim Field Guide, Ghostly: A Novel Of Postmodern Ireland, Uncle Treacle’s Bestiary, Hollywood & Vine, The Horror Of Rue Royale, and Stained Glass: Mythopoeic Storeys.

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