Truth is the ultimate muse. Art and literature are the true chronicles of an era, capturing its anxiety and fury, unlike history books or influencers. My collection, Acanthus Void, uses dark humor, satire, and horror as a response to our difficult times. I observe the use of free speech to project darkness (hate, cruelty) and use my own First Amendment right to project illumination through uncompromising commentary. The stories (e.g., environmental disaster, racist politics, LGBTQ+ attacks, bigotry, border fears, systemic callousness) are my refusal to be silent. We are all the “other” people now. It’s time to choose to do the right thing. My words are my testament to free expression. Sincerely, Piers de Sade.
Piers de Sade
“To truly chronicle the dark, one must be comfortable with having no light of their own. I am merely the mirror held up to the monsters we pretend don’t exist.” — Piers de Sade
The Nomadic Ghost: Piers de Sade
Piers de Sade does not inhabit a home; he inhabits the peripheral vision of the world. Known as the “Velvet Ghoul” of dark fantasy, de Sade treats the genre not as fiction, but as a ledger of the unsettling truths he uncovers in his endless travels.
His origins are as obscured as the plots of his novels. Legend suggests he was found as an infant on the steps of a derelict cathedral in the Black Forest, wrapped in heavy silk with no record of his lineage. This mystery of birth has defined his life and his liturgy: he belongs everywhere and nowhere.
The Eternal Observer
De Sade is a perpetual wanderer, a being who lives out of a single leather trunk filled with vellum journals and fountain pens. He does not seek out tourist landmarks; he seeks out the “bruises” of the world—places where history has curdled and the veil is thin. He is the witness, the guilty bystander, of humanity’s unspeakable truths.
A Philosophy of Shadow
De Sade’s reclusiveness is not born of shyness, but of a commitment to his craft: the author must be a ghost to truly see the world. He moves through society like a shadow across a wall—present, yet untouchable.
He remains a man without a country, a chronicler of the elegant nightmare, forever moving toward the next horizon where the shadows grow long and the stories begin to bleed.