**HeathenStorm Productions** , in association with **Dawn of Elysium** , presents **ORPHAN**. A fast-paced journey into the cyberpunk future of another time, ORPHAN tells the story of Jane Doe, played by actress **Aida Knight** in her screen debut. Isolated and wandering the urban dystopia, haunted by a lonely childhood, she is drawn towards a glossy corporate clinic. Specialists in ‘Temporal Therapy’, they promise to rewind her memory to the moment before her parents died, so she may relive life a different way… … but everything has a cost. Shot entirely on iPhone and without the use of generative AI, ORPHAN pushes the possibilities of creative micro-budget filmmaking. In-camera effects are augmented by motion tracking, masking and overlays to transport the actress into the virtual environments of tomorrow. Filmed on location around West Yorkshire, including Allen Brickworks, Shipley Glen and Production Park. Conceived, directed and edited by **Daryl Parson** , a champion of regional filmmaking in his role as Ambassador for **Film Wakefield** , while also studying at the **Academy of Live Technology**. Music by Bradford-based Gothic Progressive Rock band **DAWN OF ELYSIUM**. “Orphan” is taken from new album _The Mandela Effect_ , independently released and available now. **Watch ORPHAN:** https://youtu.be/qXhJgjNGIi8 **HeathenStorm Productions** https://production.heathenstorm.com **Dawn of Elysium** https://dawnofelysium.co.uk

After over three years of planning, filming, rethinking, and especially learning, I am pleased to declare my micro-budget sci-fi short ORPHAN is _complete_! Doubling up as a music video, the premiere will be over on Dawn of Elysium‘s YouTube channel. The first showing is **Tuesday 22nd September** at **18:00 UK time** , and then it will be also available on the HeathenStorm Promotions channel. Once again, I am grateful for the band’s patience through the process, as these wild chimeric concepts came together in the final cut. Direct link: https://youtu.be/FMlktLQGNC4 Additionally, Orphan will be showcased in person on **Thursday 24th September** at **Film Wakefield** ‘s Networking event. Hosted by Wakefield Exchange from 6pm onwards, the evening promises a packed agenda of industry insights and opportunities, doing the region proud! Tickets available from: https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/film-wakefield-networking-event-tickets-1988626477326 I will have much more to reflect on the creative process in the days to come. It’s taken a lot out of what little I had these past weeks, not least resolving those last-minute snafus, but I’m proud to have brought my vision to form. Tune in on Tuesday.

I made it out for a walk today. The first since things started to go bad in April, and the first I’ve had the energy and co-ordination to attempt. Although only 45 minutes across (somewhat arid) local fields instead of my extended rambles around the region, it was sufficient to get the legs pumping again. By contrast, these past few weeks have seen very little movement as I settle into a sombre routine of subsistence. The long-awaited neurologist referral (twelve weeks and counting) has yet to manifest, and in the interim my GP put me on some stop-gap medication to ease the awfulness of it all. I was concerned from the start. Although sometimes prescribed to treat nerve pain, **Duloxetine** is primarily an SNRI antidepressant. I know in myself that I am not depressed. I’m _rightfully_ down about my condition, yes, and it is precisely that discomfort which keeps me wanting to get better. New colours were the first surprise, as reality became augmented with an otherworldly glow. Grasping at the few thoughts that failed to elude me, I began to wonder whether the ubiquity of such medication might partly explain the tertiary-coloured, low-contrast milkslop of the modern film and video game palette. Things became darker still as I felt myself again falling into mental numbness, as I had on previous medication. This was compounded by sudden paralysis on waking up, rendering limbs immobile save shaking with tremors when I tried to move them. Although the morning malaise eased with determination, I lasted a week before stopping the meds early. The pain may have returned, but at least I can function again. The withdrawal symptoms were particularly vicious – causing me in turn to withdraw from others while harbouring dark, destructive thoughts I care not to recall. * * * In the isolation of this plight, I find my greatest strengths reinforced by those who have stepped forward to help me find answers and the comfort of belonging. A dear friend I met at the very start of my travels, Rana, reached out after things went public on my birthday. With a will to help me through this, she has passed my symptoms and test results along to a neurologist friend of hers, and although not a formal diagnosis they have offered one possibility, albeit uncommon… **Autoimmune encephalitis** : The immune system mistaking healthy brain tissue for harmful and attacking it, causing inflammation and nerve disruption. It is an existential irony that the metaphoric struggle between body and soul, often touched upon in my writing, might have drawn such physical battlelines in flesh. But I don’t know for certain. If this is indeed the case, then I am clearly on the clock to minimise any permanent damage. Old age aside, I already feel I am not as ‘sharp’ as I was a few months ago, and once-strong memories have become hazy. I spoke with my GP today after getting back home, and he is sympathetic to my concerns. I am back in for more blood tests next week, and an MRI scan has been scheduled separate from the referral. At the very least, if we can prove this isn’t the cause then it’s one less concern to carry. * * * Looking back to belonging, and wanting to end on an unambiguously happy note; I recently received a couple of care packages from friends who attended House of the Holy. Much love and gratitude to Anita, who passed along an art print from **Cartismandua** ; and to Dayenne and Barry who collated kindness from many in the community. Gathering together postcards with handwritten well-wishes, as well as occult gifts to add to my altar. Goodness from afar that helps to remind me who I am, anchor myself to others, and formulate a future beyond this current uncertainty. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. It would be a boring life if I did. But today was a good day, and I’m going to take it.

It is with deep regret that I was unable to ascend the Alm this Midsummer. A consistent, welcome retreat in my yearly travels, Abtenau has brought me to many heights, tempered by occasional lows. This is the only time I have been absent since first attending in 2015, outside of travel restrictions beyond anyone’s control. Some at **House of the Holy** this year have reached out in love to tell me I’ve been missed, and even as I remain mostly housebound it offers kind comfort to be in their thoughts. This year is particularly poignant, with Barth’s sudden and tragic passing leaving a yearning sadness in the hearts of all. Although I know the gathering is the product of many people’s unyielding devotion to a higher cause, I also know that, for good or ill, he became the figurehead. Bartholomäus Resch – from documentary ‘Shadows of Light‘ We didn’t know each other _that_ well, save a long night in Parma after **Our Survival Depends on Us** supported **Coven** (of which I shall spare the debauched details), but we always acknowledged each other in respect wherever we crossed paths. I once heard from those closer that he was pleased to see ‘The Daryl’ around, and that is enough. Barth always struck an imposing figure as he wandered the festival site, bedecked in symbolism and ash, partly on this plane and partly elsewhere. I kept my distance as he worked his magick. One cannot invoke such fire and worship without madness, and it takes a rare madness indeed to summon strangers together around the flame. The friends made in familiarity from across the world are very dear to me, bonds forged tight in the heat of belonging. Although the concept and focus of House of the Holy has changed from the promise of the early **Funkenflug** years, I still cherish every precious moment shared upon the mountain. * * * Some say the final destination of any journey is ‘home’. Whether the home one makes in lands anew, or the home one returns to, forever changed by the experience. I once believed the purpose of travel was merely to arrive, and in my eagerness to reach the destination I neglected myself. Seeking the heady rush of sensation to supplant shadows left unbroached. Maybe ‘home’ is here, there, and in the amorphous _elsewhere_. This chosen community of seeking souls, and the sweet solace of those who feel loss and find comfort in the presence of loved ones. Through such deep, sincere connections, I have discovered shards of myself in the hearts of others – reflections I never knew existed. Perhaps I am more whole for the sharing. In my first writing eleven years ago, now lost to the cold indifference of modern media, I compared the mountain to a crucible. One to burn away that which fails to serve, and transform into something greater through external ordeal. The ordeal is internal now, but through the love expressed these past days I know I exist beyond myself and the limitations of this moment. The flame is not so distant after all. (Ritual Loperello by Cartismandua)

This is not how I wished my birthday to be. Today should have been a day of great accomplishment. Proudly celebrating the successful completion of my degree and looking ahead to postgraduate aspirations through a summer rich with opportunity. Finally staying the course to the end, even as a mature student, and making a difference for myself and others. For very good reason, however, it’s all on hold. The as-yet undiagnosed neurological condition that manifested in April continues to rage, with relapses constant and debilitating. Whatever respite came from medication dulled my mind to incapacity, so I ride this raw and make the most of lucid moments. Focus fails, co-ordination falters, and I dare not drive for long distances. I’m very much a prisoner of myself now, and as I yearn for answers I have no choice but to seek them within. I reflect on prior years for a sign of symptoms that could explain this, and consider the moments where things started to go wrong. But looking to the past will only expose seductive excuses and false comfort, written off as brief lapses or just the onset of age. It is ahead that I must find my way through. Unable to finish the final term, I am now suspended from the Academy, with a meticulous Risk Assessment cataloguing the whys. Negotiations persist for a possible return in upcoming years, depending on my return to health and whether discretionary funding can be secured. Nothing is certain there. Yet certainty comes from a legacy I have already achieved. My tenure as Wellbeing Officer has also ended, and another has stepped up to inherit my mantle. With that and my mentoring, I know I have set a positive example with all the support and care I could muster. The Hierophant thrives. I cannot work right now, nor meet others. Contact with the music scene has diminished, save a few sparks of sincere sympathy. The mountain, especially at this crux of mourning, is lost to me, with travel cancelled and ticket delivered to another deserving soul. My neurology referral will be next month at the earliest, and from there hopefully a diagnosis. Because that would at least give a point of focus, of understanding, then treatment and a way forwards. To put a name to the demon that plagues me so. In the nadir of the longest nights, lying awake with scratching in my skull like nails down chalkboard, I wish this condition were terminal. At least then there would be an end to it, and I would be spared the burden of rebuilding whatever life I may from the remains of what was. But rebuild I must. I know I am supported. I know I am loved. Those I need at this point in life have stepped forward in kindness, and I am grateful. Not just for their compassion, but for the perspective to see this not as a death sentence, but rather an appreciation of every moment of life that remains. My anchor to the future. I’ve striven half a century to get where I am. I can give it another year or two.

Things are mostly getting worse. My neurologist referral has stalled, with my symptoms degrading further, so I reached out to my GP last week to expedite the next step. Despite a separate optician appointment confirming my blurred vision isn’t just a sudden change of prescription, I still need to know what’s wrong with that and the rest. To that end, I was advised to go to the local hospital’s Accident and Emergency department in the hope of escalating my case to someone who could help. It was a challenge, not least my reluctance to divert resources from more deserving patients. Unable to drive further than a few miles now, I had to push myself via patchy public transport to get to Pontefract – failing the first day from fatigue after scheduled buses failed to arrive. The second day fared better, escaping the village on an unexpected route after my intended one failed again; then bounced from Pontefract via transfer bus to Wakefield’s Pinderfields Hospital. With an expected six hour waiting time, I settled in as best as I could with all the grace and humility I could muster. Finally reaching triage and then the on-site doctor, I stumbled and stammered over my symptoms, struggling with basic sentences. Although I could not see a neurologist after all, I was at least prescribed some medication to ease the worst of the pain. Tablets sufficient to knock me out overnight and well into the day. Although travelling solo by necessity, I am thankful for the friends who kept me company by text. Where some have distanced themselves from my plight, others have stepped up to check in on me repeatedly, offering kindness and compassion from afar. Even if my lack of coherence has made it difficult to return their messages. * * * It took another three nights under the medication before focus briefly reemerged, granting respite to anticipate the next few weeks. It shames me to not complete my degree as intended, although the effort I’ve put in to creep towards a Distinction has proved my ability to do the work. Instead I’ve been told I may still pass, but ungraded, which still feels unearned despite valid circumstances. It hurts especially to be outside campus right now, as everyone works so hard on their end of year projects and events. This final flurry of excitement and group camaraderie denied as I become increasingly distant and unnecessary. Nor can I pursue career and work opportunities now emerging for graduates. Shut out by nature of my mind, unable to return just yet. I look to creativity, having received footage from both my CT scan and previous term’s video project to work on, but I remain locked in the limbo of uncertainty. Beyond myself, I feel for those of the Alm who have faced such terrible tragedy in recent weeks. Barth’s sudden passing was a raw and painful shock to all, and although this year’s **House of the Holy** will still continue, I honestly don’t know if I will be able to show my respects in person. I have two weeks to confirm attendance, hoping my referral comes through in time to determine whether I am well enough. The pills are a stopgap, and I need to know what’s amiss before I can plan what happens next. I have done what I can and more to get back on the right track, but I must now wait for the process. And the world still moves on without me.

The course of life can change very suddenly, and without warning, context, or expectation. April started positively, with a short trip to the homeland to reset myself in anticipation of my final term at the Academy. No stressors or negativity, just self-assured confidence and knowing I’ve done far better than expected in my degree. A week later, as lectures began, I became wracked with constant, debilitating headaches and an aggressive change of personality aimed unfairly at my fellow students. Knowing myself well enough to realise this isn’t who I am, I sought the doctor immediately, hoping it just a temporary glitch. Instead, by nature of my age, I found myself immediately expedited into a series of urgent tests. Blood samples, blood pressure monitoring, and ultimately a CT scan for my skull – with the possibility the prognosis could be very serious and permanent. I still tried to move through life, celebrating what joy I could garner from my circumstances, but I could feel myself getting worse by the week. Clumsiness increased, vision blurred, and although my peers were as patient as can be, I became more isolated. My ability to articulate myself verbally had deteriorated, with any capacity to contribute and think my way through things frustratingly difficult. Although I held to better hopes, the worries of the worst weighed heavy. On Beltaine I received the results of the brain scan. Thankfully, the unspeakable uncertainty of a tumour was not to pass, nor did there appear to be any sign of stroke or other internal damage. However, they did find an anomaly – a prominent cerebral vein warranting further investigation. To that end I have been referred to a neurologist where I await the next study of self-understanding. My mind is my lens to the universe, and the detachment is palpable. It is hard for me to communicate with others now. My voice locks-up mid-sentence as I stammer and struggle to find the next word. Exhausted and unable to sit straight for long without nausea, I barely sleep, with night terrors refracting my uncertainty. The personality changes still rage, but I keep them under control although I cannot trust myself to be myself as much as I used to. For now, at least, I am able to write my story – even as the narrator becomes an unreliable stranger. On the march to Midsummer, I am grateful for the support I receive on campus and elsewhere. I do not know if I will be capable of finishing my course these next six weeks, but I take solace as I ebb and flow my way along that some moments are better than others, and I strive with determination. Throughout all of life I at least console myself that anticipated fears are never as bad as the actuality of the experience, and I approach what may come accordingly. Ironically, Lufthansa cancelled my original **House of the Holy** flights, so I don’t need to beg them for a refund should I need to bow out. I will see where the next weeks take me before making any final decision to offer the ticket on. But despite the shittiness of the situation, I retain a mantra. One that has set me in good stead beforehand, and now codified in this moment of sacrifice and transformation: _For as long as I can, I will._

I have crossed continents in my decades-long creative course, making the most of every opportunity I could muster in America and Europe. As this chapter of the journey reaches its coda at Yorkshire’s **Academy of Live Technology** , I am surrounded by excellent, enthusiastic talent as eager for experience as I was when I began. Although focused on the Live Events industry, **Production Park** has also held host to high-profile Film and Television projects, and is expanding to accommodate more. While the award-winning **Adolescence** offers obvious acclaim, our studios have also opened their doors to a live audience for the latest season of **The Voice UK** , and previously to the **Bank of Dave** movie – the production that brought me there in the first place. From here, I am pleased to announce my appointment as Ambassador for ****Film Wakefield**** , representing the district’s film industry on campus and beyond, and providing a platform from which I can give something back. Earlier this month, creatives from around the region gathered at a packed **Policelot** studio for an inaugural industry meet-and-greet networking event. Despite initial shock at seeing my name and especially face on the wall, I gave a good account of myself on the welcome panel, shared by other ambassadors with compelling tales of their own. A short break for a natter brought me to the back of the auditorium to listen to a panel of industry speakers, including actress _Gaynor Faye_ of Coronation Street and Emmerdale fame. One thing I took from all participants was that while professionalism is essential to navigating the creative industries, it must be balanced by a sense of fun and camaraderie to get through the worst times. Throughout the evening, it was great to talk with established creatives and those just starting their journey – offering my experience and worldly wisdom along the way. As for the duties of an Ambassador, I see myself as one opening doors in all directions. Already, I am gathering a collective of film buffs at the Academy, to connect to local productions in need of talent. The district itself offers many beautiful locations suitable for any style of shoot, which I will champion at a higher level. I also aim to bring long-standing projects to completion with new vigour, determination, and resources. There is much fresh energy to tap into here, and an obvious irony that the opportunities I sought were on my doorstep all along. But I wouldn’t be able to bring as much to the role without the journey that has led me home.

Very happy to have finally finished my Level 1 Dante Certification on an apropos Good Friday evening. With training provided by Aussie AV techies **Audinate** , this means I’m now officially authorised to hook up any number of Dante-enabled Audio-Visual devices across a basic local network. Covering the fundamentals, the course itself was four-and-a-bit hours of standard video fare, which I admit I’d staggered over three months before taking the time to wrap it up tonight. Overall it was surprisingly less audio-centric than I’d have expected, with a strong focus on video formats and the nuts and bolts of networking. Thankfully my IT experience sailed me through the latter, and I hadn’t forgotten _too_ much from the start of the syllabus. Although I don’t intend to follow Virgil’s pace for the remaining realms, next comes Level Two and subsequently Three – along with applying my newfound knowledge to get Inferno up and running properly. A reasonably straightforward pathway for once.