Order is the focal point around which existence revolves. Without order there is only chaos. And in the halls of Damnation (pronounced Dam-NAWT-ion, thank you kindly) the first sign of impending chaos is a cup of tea made without the water having first been well and properly boiled in a kettle.

Why is this relevant, O nameless narrator, you ask? Who cares about the preparatory order of tea in the fires of Hell?

Lucifer, dear reader. After all, how does one expect to properly greet the newcomers to Hell without having first had a hot cup of tea to bulwark the cold?

Behold The Morning Star, frantic on the annual Morning of Souls, the arrival of Damnation’s newest recruits.

Someone has misplaced the kettle.

What happens when tragedy strikes? When you’re feeling at your lowest? When your whole life comes crashing down? What happens? You will have a cup of tea. You make it for yourself, or someone else makes it for you. But you have a cup of tea. It’s meant to help. Soothe. Make things ever so slightly better. Help you face the demons.

But, the kettle is missing in Hell, there’s no tea to be had, tragedy has struck. What else left but to spiral into madness and misery?!

Being the Lord of Hell was not easy, especially when you had demons of your own.


Ye gods, this is an absolute mindfuck novelette… and that in a good sense, from a my perspective. I mean, I like to be in ribbons after reading words on pages. I cried. Thrice. I laughed, more than thrice. Laughed… chuckled. Phallos Forest, flying wanking foxes and sadness. Grief.

I’m laughing, I’m crying.

Did you look at that cover, even? Did you see the cover? Look again – it’s magnificent!

Truly, though, this book hit the soft spot with the hardest punch because it is, in a sense, a purge. A purge of grief. And my heart was so, so sore. Also, I think, sadly, it’s grief and misery, strong emotions, that are often the most powerful muse to fuelling beautiful and bittersweet creation. It just is this way. Strong emotions open the floodgates… You have to let the emotion out. With tears, through a pen, on to paper. Purge. And it can be nothing else than hell, madness, going through the notions, misery, crying, laughing, crying again… A Cup of Tea at the Mouth of Hell is the written form of emotions that makes you feel like your skin is about to split when you can no longer contain the swirl and hurricane of emotions within you.

And who needs drugs anyway when you have stories like this? It’s an out of body experience in many ways.

We sipped, listening to the melody of dying Heaven whisper through the cracks. Have you ever heard a blue whale mourn its stillborn calf?

I read this short story. I want to read absolutely everything by Luke Tarzian. I am set to do so. To devour the words of Luke Tarzian I have supplied myself with:

Vultures I The World Maker Parable I The World Breaker Requiem

Rip me up, Luke Tarzian!