Raegan Butcher's Blog, page 13

surviving prison

When people ask, “How did you survive prison?” I ask them, "How did you survive high school?” Same sort of situation. You are stuck. You don’t have a choice. Attendance is mandatory, compulsory. There are two ways out of prison: escape or suicide. I lacked the courage for either.I have never had time pass so slowly as it did during those seven years. Every minute was made more teeth-grindingly awful by the knowledge that I did it to myself. No one ever forced me to make the incredibly bad decisions I made in the 90s. That blame lies squarely with me. I wasn't some innocent man railroaded into the joint. I was a dangerously unbalanced idiot/asshole with a gun--the worst thing in the world.
How could I be proud of my past—it’s a dreary saga of waste, stupidity, and failure. Surviving prison was nothing more than dumb luck and simple everyday endurance, nothing to be proud of.

full disclosure

Sometimes those close to me ask me why I am so forthcoming about my past, prison, all that. I figure it is a matter of public record. There is no point in hiding it. If people choose not to associate with me because of it, then fuck them.

Travis Anthony Soumis

I got a sneak peek at the cover of my upcoming book "Siege of Station 19" and I want to thank the artist, Travis Anthony Soumis, for an exceptional job. The illustration is colorful and lurid and it reminds me of Basil Gogos, one of my all-time favorite illustrators.

Dennis Reece, My 6th grd Teacher

I had an excellent teacher when I was in the sixth grade, Dennis Reece. He looked just like Steve Landesburg. I still recall very vividly the books he read out loud to us as a class. "Tuck Everlasting" was a favorite, but my all-time fave was "The White Mountains." It had a huge effect on me, firing my imagination in all the best ways.

It has been quite a while since I was an eleven yr old, but I think very often of Mr Reece and the impact he had upon me as a child.

poem from "psychedelic knucklehead"

the accoutrements of beauty

i lay on her bed
listening to Radiohead
while she puts on her make-up
she has bottles and creams
and eyebrow pencils
various gels, perfumes and oils
the accoutrements of beauty
i’ve ruined her skirt
and i haven’t written anything
in weeks
but my vasectomy scars
are almost healed
and last night
i was so deep
inside her
she told me
she could feel me
all the way
up to the bottom
of her ribcage
oh, yeah

poetry can wait

I am not an anarchist

I am not an anarchist
stop calling me one
or you'll
get me pissed

There, I just one-upped Johnny Rotten.

But seriously, just because Crimethinc put out two of my poetry books, this does not mean I am an anarchist.

Bug-Eyed Monsters

According to Wikipedia: "Bug-eyed monster is an early convention of the science fiction genre. Extraterrestrials in science fiction of the 1930s were often described (or pictured on covers of pulp magazines) as grotesque creatures with huge, over-sized or compound eyes and a lust for women, blood, and/or general destruction."

I love that description "a lust for women, blood, and/or general destruction" and I deliberately gave my chupacabras bug eyes as tribute to the old pulp term. I am happily writing "bug-eyed monster" stories. The first BEM book "Siege of Station 19" drops in February from Necro publications.

Thunderstorm & the Chupacbra Chronicles

I have been very lucky of late and Thunderstorm Books are going to put out a special limited edition hardcover of my mammoth horror tome "The Chupacabra Chronicles" as soon as I am finished editing the manuscript. I have been working all day, every day to get these tales of the chupacabra into shape. The series is going to be a lot of fun. I am having a blast writing them. Stay tuned for more.

Necro Publications

It is official. I signed my contracts yesterday and Necro Publications will be releasing "Siege of Station 19" in February. This will be my first published novel. I am stoked to be breaking out of the poetry ghetto. Big shout out to David G.Barnett of Necro for taking a chance on me.

poem from Stone Hotel

visiting room

an air
of sadness
permeates
the room.
kids
without fathers.
wives
without husbands.
everyone
wishing they were
someplace
else.