Steven Rage's Blog, page 6

Orlyn Farr is going "FOR ALL THE MARBLES" Parts I & II. (hardcore!)

'click' here for this mad shit...

Orlyn Farr is going for FOR ALL THE MARBLES.

After the Cataclysmic Events (ACE), the populace fled the surface to live under-ground. With Ice Age conditions complicating a return to the surface, whole townships formed anew. With limited space, sundries and foodstuffs available, overpopulation soon rears its ugly head. To continue living past the mandatory declining age of 60 annums (thirteen moon cycles), senior citizens must have the financial resources or the political clout to pay for Rx Medical and a luxuriously appointed flat in top-of-the-line Care Centers like Paradise Acres. If you don't have the scratch, you can opt-out. Most seniors choose this option. They quietly accept a hot-shot of Morphine and a final visit above ground. The treacherous white-out conditions on the surface will freeze you solid in a few time-ticks. Or try being a Big Winner. Beg, borrow, or steal enough Federal Reserve Notes and Teleport to the Annual Sixth Decade Tourney. The Big Winner gets Rx Medical and a flat at Paradise Acres. Along with all the lime gelatin, fellatio and potent narcotics your old ass can gobble. If you lose, well… you should have opted-out. But not our stalwart adventurer.

Orlyn Farr is betting his own life FOR ALL THE MARBLES.

       "FOR ALL THE MARBLES"

PART I

Hedging My Bets. Spilling The Beans:

I just turned 60 annums old. The BINGO tournament in Bogota is less than a month away and I hadn't a pot to piss in. I was forced to live with my kids and their kids in a cold, cramped domicile. It was underground in The Harbor and it forever smelled like stale cabbage and unwashed flesh.

When my son looks at me, I can tell he looking forward to me opting-out. Neither of us can pay the after 60 tax, for it is purposefully prohibitive in cost. We had no political connections. I suspected he'd already spent my Death Insurance he'll get when I go up top and freeze to death. He also looks at my corner, and I can read his face like an open book. It was filled with thoughts on renting my corner to a relative that actually had the funds to pay for it.

There's no place I can run to, so I was planning on just going in early, opting-out, and getting it over with, when the message came in. It was coded and secret, which was strange all on its own. I have never in my fairly pointless time on this frozen shitsicle of a planet got an important message like that one. I couldn't receive it at home. Instead, I must make way through The Harbor's tunnel system to the Postal Center. There, after I give them a drop of blood from one of my fingers, I can retrieve the momentous message.

I left immediately for the Postal Center. Once there, I had my wrist scanned for the legal bar-coding chip we legal Harbor citizens have for ID. My finger tip was punched for the blood sample. It naturally beeped at my age, locking me into the security pod until the machines sorted it out. It unlocked, seeing that I have a month left to live, and allowed me to proceed to a private viewing station. I went inside the station and secure-locked the sliding door with my thumb-print. I centered myself in front of the screen. As I did so, it lit up. A beam of light scanned a bust shot of me, no doubt a redundant security measure. Whoever I was about to talk to wanted to make very sure I was who I said I was. In a moment it was done. An old human woman came on the screen. She had to be every penny of 80 annums old. I've never seen anyone that old before. Not in person, anyway. She must be important in a way I can't comprehend. She looked pretty healthy too. Her eyes were clear and sharp and she had a full head of hair. When she smiled, I could see that the woman had all of her teeth. It all must have cost her a fortune. The only thing wrong was the hissing of medical gases and the slight blue tinge to her lips.

"Greetings, Mr. Orlyn Farr, I am Chess Master," she began. "You are 60 annums old. Have you made your final arrangements? Have you found your peace?"

Stupid, I know, but I started laughing. There's just no way it could really be her. Ever since she took over, Chess Master ran everything in The Harbor. And she probably wasn't limited to just our shit hole. I'd never seen an image of her. I don't know anyone who has. Yet, she was supposed to be here, conversing in secret to Orlyn Farr, a guy who can't even pay for one more year of his ridiculous life. No way. And then I got scared, for what if she is who she says she is? What the fuck do I do then? Begging would be a good start. I stifled my laughter like it never was.

"Greetings to you, Chess Master," I replied, not knowing any of the protocol for this sort of deal.

"I can see from the blood that has drained from your face, that you believe me?"

"Um, uh, well – yes, I do." I stammered like an imbecile. She seemed to take it in stride.

"Good, because I don't have any time to waste, Mr. Farr,"

"Yes, Sir," I replied.

"Then answer my question, Mr. Farr: have you made your final arrangements?"

"No, Sir, I haven't." I frowned. The realization I guess just hit me with full force right then. "I mean, I can't afford the tax, so I guess I will have to opt-out. I'm far too old and sick to run."

"What about your family, Mr. Farr? They can't pay the tax for you?"

"No, they can't, Sir. Painfully, though, I don't think they would, even if they had the means."

"You don't get along with them?" Chess Master asked me.

I thought about it, but only for a moment. I said: "I think I take up valuable space that my son could get rent for."

"He's probably counting your Death Insurance too, I'd imagine."

"Yes," I said plainly. "Opting-out is for the best, I'm sure."

She said nothing for a moment. Chess Master was looking down at something, below my view screen. Checking on something, she seemed to be.

"Have you considered BINGO?"

"You mean the tournament in Bogota, Sir?"

"Yes."

"I couldn't even afford to take a bicycle taxi to the Teleport Station, let alone the whole package, Sir."

"What if I was willing to sponsor you, Mr. Farr? I'll go further and say that since time is such a concern for me, I can tell you, in complete confidence, of course –"

"Of course, Sir," I replied. I was quite intrigued by then.

"Good. What if, in addition to sponsoring your costs, I was to insure that you win?" she asked.

I'll tell you some truth: a dropped pin could have been heard. I stared at her bluing lips and how they had darkened as she spoke. Chess Master was keeping her composure intact, but I could see she was suffering. Her lips lightened as she breathed in the medicated mist.

"How can you do that?" I asked Chess Master, the fear of her momentarily lapsing. "You can't do that, no one can." I insisted.

"My dear fellow," she hissed, angry. "You'll find that there is nothing I can't do. There's no move I can't make and there is no game I can't win. I say the word and you will be sent to Bogota where you will win the BINGO tournament. Your reward will be anything and everything your little heart desires."

Something tiny, hope I suppose, began building inside me. It started to swell to the point where I could think of nothing else. She is promising me the moon and the stars. Strangely, I knew she could deliver the goods.

But, what, I wondered, did she want in return? I had absolutely nothing to bargain with. What did she want?

"What do you want in return," I went ahead and asked her. "You must know that I couldn't possibly have anything you would want or need, Sir."

"On the contrary, Mr. Farr, you have exactly what I need," she explained. "Or, rather, your granddaughter, Vanessa has."

"Vanessa? Sir, she's only 6 annums old, she's barely started school."

"I'm aware of her age, Mr. Farr," she replied, testily. "I need her because my heart is failing and she is my exact genetic match."

The clouds parted and the angels sang. I got it, but could I do it?

"I see," I managed.

"Yes, well, time is of the essence, Mr. Farr, which is why you are being made this exclusive offer. I'm afraid there is a great deal of work yet to be done, so I will need your answer, straightaway."

"By when," I asked "a few days?"

"Sorry, no," she replied. "I'm afraid I need your answer right now."

I thought about it, I'm not ashamed to say. I even thought about saying no. But, in the end, there's no I in TEAM. But there is one in BINGO.

I told Chess Master where little Vanessa could be found.

"Chess can be described as the movement of pieces eating one another."

Marcel Duchamp

PART II

My Last Meal and Testament:

The Tourney officials organized the BINGO Cabaret and Mixer for us tournament players and volunteers. It was being held in the fancy-schmancy grand ballroom of the Bogota resort. It's always a first-class wing-a-ding, and this year's was no exception.

I was waiting in my hotel room. I was smoking a nice, fat, complimentary joint while receiving some complimentary head from a re-animated corpse. Although she was cold and blue and not much of a conversationalist, the formerly-living did suck one Hell of a good dick.

Now that the chamber of my geriatric love gun has been emptied, I could finish getting ready. The honor bar was unlocked. Inside were pills and powders and tiny syringes of clear fluids galore. They were all labeled by name, as well as action. I was trying to decide what all I wanted to imbibe. I was getting frustrated at all the choices. Usually, the only drugs I saw were the ones other people were doing. I racked my memory banks, but it had been so long, I don't even recall what I used to like, besides weed. So, I chose the pragmatic route and took them all. I tossed a few random pills down my gullet. I laid out some of the powders and snorted them with a rolled Note until I started feeling really strange. I looked in the mirror and could hardly see my reflection. Between the drugs kicking in and my cataracts, my vision was seriously flawed. I saw my vague reflection morph into two and then I knew I was ready to go. I left my room and headed to the grand ballroom. When I got there, the Mixer was already in full swing.

It was a wonderful collection of the freaky and deranged. I could see that they had a cabaret show going full bore up on the main stage. On two side stages, amongst too many manned mini-bars to count, the fetish proms were located. Full humans, Halflings, Pit Demons, ghosts of the damned and the formerly-living zombies were filling up the ballroom. Folks were suspended from hooks piercing the flesh of their backs, spinning with their heads thrown back, in big circles above the crowd. A bright red demon girl with fake heavenly angel's wings walked around, offering quick injections to the party-goers. The demon girl called the shots 'angel kisses'. Judging from the animated reactions of the injected, the 'angel kisses' housed some really killer speed.

I was anticipating a kiss myself when my progress was thwarted. A huge bouncer type motherfucker stood as an impenetrable wall of blue and green scales. He looked at me with his giant yellow lizard eyes, having scanned my wrist. I started walking into to the festive fiesta and the bouncer stopped me cold.

 "You not going in, Mr. Farr," he growled. His breath smelled like fermenting piss.
"The fuck I'm not, Gargan!" I told him, right to his pierced nipples. Lizard-boy hadn't a clue what I had to do to get here. There was no way he was going to stop me, no matter how big he was. Don't get me wrong, I'm not brave. I'm not the rough and tumble type, but this gigantic ass clown was not going to keep Orlyn Farr from getting down on the get-down. I was bunching up, waiting for shit to escalate when he deflated me in an instant. Instead of answering, the behemoth handed me a note. It was handwritten on fancy, pricey parchment. I already knew who it was from, so I stepped out of line and opened the note. It read:

My Dear Mr. Farr,

I apologize for keeping you from the public festivities. You must understand, Sir, I have a rather large investment in you, as per our agreement. I cannot allow any public indiscretions, nor can I take any chances on you getting injured or ill. I must insist you return to your hotel room, where a private party is being prepared for you. If you do not comply, you will automatically forfeit your portion of our contract, and you will be remanded for an immediate opt-out.

Sincerely Yours, CM

Well, shitballs. Having no choice, I turned on heel to go back to my room. Once there, I went inside and saw that the cabaret had come to me.

A pretty young zombie man greeted me at the door. He stuck a needle in my thigh. I began smiling uncontrollably for the rest of the evening. We walked around the mostly zombie party.

They weren't interested in eating or drinking, slugging or drugging, so there was more of everything than I could ever consume. But I gave it my best shot.

When I finally passed out, hours later, my testicles hurt from overuse and my head was swimming and spinning. I vomited most of the real animal flesh I'd gluttoned down.

The zombie boy helped me get into the big, comfortable, oversized bed. His cold kiss is the last thing I recalled.

The next day at high noon, the BINGO tournament began.

"The older I grow, the more I value Pawns."

Paul Keres

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My Birthday. "The Day Kelly Sue Died"

 

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THE LORD LOVES MOTHERS. SUPPOSEDLY SO.

"THE DAY KELLY SUE DIED"

You were born early and injured on the day our mother passed.  You were only two days old when it was your turn.  It was on my birthday.  I turned six the day you died.

Our mother walked us to the bus stop, like any other day.  I went to school.  You and mother went to the trauma center.  I was learning to spell my last name while you two were dying.

I never saw mother again.  I never got to see you at all. 

Today it's making me wonder.  I can't help it. November 1st is my birthday.  The day Kelly Sue died. 

And man, that just really sucks.

TWO DAYS OLD …

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The Ethereal Gazzette Issue 13

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The Ethereal Gazette: Issue 13
By etherealgazette@gmail.com, Nickolaus Pacione, Various Authors, Edgar Allan Poe, Pamela K. Kinney, Rev. Steven Rage , Lake Fossil Press, Barry Eysman 
View this Author's Spotlight Part of the AuthorsDen Marketplace

Paperback, 284 pages
 

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Includes the Grim Rev's novella "The Fall of a Blood Drinking Drug Dealer" in its entire!

 

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This issue of The Ethereal Gazette we have writers Pamela K. Kinney and her artist coming on to do the cover art, Rev. Steven Rage with a gritty vampire novella in its entirely and a presentation of The Black Cat By Edgar Allan Poe with the original artwork by Beardsley. There are more stories than one can shake a stick at in here, and there is one by Hilton Bush which was a referral by a writer from Tabloid Purposes. Artwork in the issue by R.N. Matos the author of Chronicles of the Damned. There will be a true story by the editor in there about a horror that happened when he was nineteen years old and how it played into his psyche. There is something for everyone in the anniversary issue of The Gazette. The artwork on the covers are contributed by S.L. Wickham and the editor (the editor's drawing was from 2008.)
 

"It takes a sincerely sick, drug-addled, putrified brain to come up with a world-view this demented."

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The Ethereal Gazzette Issue 13

Dear Friends:

I'm very excited, my PILATE re-write "The Fall of a Blood Drinking Drug Dealer" is showcased in its entire in this issue. Shweet! Check it out...

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback...


Thank you,

The Grim Reverend Steven Rage

3 Cuts of Hardcore Horror …

3 Cuts of Hardcore Horror …

By The Grim Reverend Steven Rage

***ATTN: Sick Freaks and Fans of Rage***…For the love of all that's unholy, PLEASE 'SHARE' my dark shit with all your friends and enemies. AVAILABLE NOW!! 


Product Description for
 
"THE PLACE IN BETWEEN":
 



Dark, mad, crazy as a fuckin' bed-bug shit from the Most Depraved Writer in Print. Recognize.

'Click' on this shit for Three cuts of bizarre hardcore horror from the macabre mind of the grim Reverend Rage. Three sordid tales of demons, revenge, botched suicide, organic narcotics, torture, halflings, freaks, vampires and a post apocalyptic society coming apart at its seams. Three trips to the dark side that'll leave you reeling... yet unable to look away.

excerpt:
 



The Good Doctor was on the other side of the subterranean exam room, nodding his head at her. She‟ll get what‟s coming to her, no worries. There are proper procedures to follow, my beaked beauty. There are no short cuts in good medicine. The Good Doctor pulled off his floor-length lab coat and wrapped it around a wire coat hanger. He loosened his tie, undid his shirt. The Good Doctor kicked off his loafers, unbuckling his belt as he walked toward Trudge and Drudge. He followed his huge, pharmaceutically enhanced erection. The conjoined twins stared out of three eyes, at some unknown subject at some unknown distance. The eyes were all the same washed out, milky-white, baby blues. The Good Doctor stopped in front of their cage, were they sat mewling and drooling out of their two mouths and sloppy down their one chin. He discarded the remainder of his outfit and slipped on a lovely gold sequined ball gown. He tied back his salt and pepper dreadlocks, tugged up his gown and stuck his pecker into Trudge‟s mouth. Drudge‟s over-sized tongue lapped sidewise at it. The Good Doctor took a silver pen casing and scratched at the dandruff on the twins‟ aircraft carrier of a melded cranium. Their sparse hair coated with Uptown. He pushed and shoved the mostly white dandruff powder into a tiny pile. The Good Doctor bent at the waist and snorted it up. He put his head back inadvertently popping his cock out of Trudge‟s suckling toothless mouth.
 
 
 
REVIEWS:
the place in between, November 25, 2010

By nuff b. ess –
The Place In Between (Paperback)

As a true connoisseur of the horror genre, I must admit I was verily disgusted and appalled by this piece of "Morbid" and I am certain that this was the author's intent. It takes a sincerely sick, drug-addled, putrified brain to come up with a world-view this demented. The "Reverend" must be very proud. If you enjoyed the Infernal trilogy by Edward Lee, then you will probably get off on these tales of another true hell where all rules no longer apply and the most profane things occur. I wish Reverend Rage a massive following so that one day my autographed copy might be worth something on Ebay. Help other customers find the most helpful reviews

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4.0 out of 5 stars Hardcore Horror & Bizarro Collide…, October 30, 2010

By Nick Cato "nickyak" (Staten Island, NY United States) – See all my reviewsThis review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback)

The three stories presented here are tied to an apocalyptic underground community known as The Harbor (two take place post, while the title tale goes down before all hell breaks loose).
In 'Blood and Bubblegum,' we're introduced to some seriously strange characters who are involved in an ever-growing organic narcotics trade, including protagonist Juan and a fecal-demon that lives in his rectum. This is by far the weirdest entry here, and features a fresh look at vampirism.
'The Place In Between,' shows that a revenge story can be done in a fresh manner: Del's wife Luci is having an affair with her drug supplier, Sancho. Sancho and Luci eventually manage to get custody of the invalid Del, and Sancho uses this as payback time from their navy days (apparently Del had done something to ruin Sancho's career). The story becomes an extreme torture tale, one that made me wince a few times…but Del manages to turn the tables via a Faust-ish deal with a demon. Rage also gives another fresh spin here on ghosts, making this a perfect blend of hardcore horror and bizarro goodness.
In the final piece, 'Bad Notion, Traveling Potion,' we return to The Harbor and learn more about The Good Doctor (responsible for creating drugs and mutants) and his created servant, the scene-stealing hybrid man/chimp, Tugmunkee. This one was a bit of a chore to follow, but in the end Rage brings it all together. While some people in the bizarro community frown upon stories centered around drug use, this one works as the "tripping" scenes are just a side-note to the real weirdness.
THE PLACE IN BETWEEN is gross, disgusting, funny, horrific, and disturbing, yet at the same time it's quite entertaining. Rage writes with his conscience thrown out the window (that is, if he had one to begin with), yet unlike some more extreme stuff I've read, he actually knows how to WRITE a story around the grue. I'm keeping my eye on this guy as he truly lives up to his last name.

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5.0 out of 5 stars Another visit to the Harbor…, October 24, 2010

By Ray Dittmeier (Louisville, KY) – See all my reviews

(REAL NAME) This review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback)

This is my third Steven Rage book, and I'm going to admit that I always have a hard time trying to figure out what to say about his work. The stories, the characters, the world it all takes place in–everything's so intense that it becomes difficult to figure out what elements to grab onto.
Okay, so, with that out of the way… With this new one, The Place in Between, Rage gives us three stories. Two return us to The Harbor, a dark, gritty world full of sex, violence, greed, cruelty, exotic drugs dealt by vampire dealers, people trying to screw one another over, and anything else you might expect to go hand-in-hand with all that. At first glance, this world seems comfortably far from our own, but on reflection, it appears uncomfortably close. To my mind, The Harbor (rather than the characters or the stories) is the focal point. It's more than a setting or even a character of sorts. It's a worldview (and one I can only hope is not the sum total of Rage's own real-life worldview).
The title story goes outside The Harbor and gives us a look at Del, a man who, when confronted with evidence that his wife was cheating, unsuccessfully attempts suicide and ends up confined to a wheelchair, unable to speak or even breathe on his own. And then he's released to the care of his cheating wife and her lover. To the outside world, they're a devoted wife and good friend. Privately, they taunt, torment and torture the helpless Del–until a demon shows up to help him. Ah, but it's not quite that simple: Rage starts the story out with the Euripides quote, "The gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children." And Rage weaves this theme into the characters' backstories, giving the story an extra dimension.
If you're already a Rage fan, this is a worthy addition to your collection. If you're not, I think it would be a good starting point–but only on a day when you're ready to be adventurous and deal with something that might come across as a bit confrontational.
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5.0 out of 5 stars Sick, Disgusting, Vile…and Genius, October 7, 2010

By Eric Mays "Bizarro Author of "Naked Metam… (Richmond, VA) – See all my reviewsThis review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback)

Sick? Absolutely. Genius? Perhaps. Rage? All the way.
We have a certain adoration for Steven Rage at the Authors Speak. He may be one of the sickest, most twisted writers writing today, but there's a mad brilliance to his work. Reading one of his texts is like growing wiser while simultaneously suppressing the urge to vomit. And, there's the funny, too. Rage brings the funny in a big way.
I'm no fan of shorter fiction. I'm not sure why, and I'm not sure why I feel the need to say that everytime I review a collection. I guess I say that because it speaks worlds when I do like a collection. "The Place in Between" is a brilliant collection of some of Rage's best work to date. And, if you're going to do short fiction, at least tie it together. Steven Rage does this flawlessly.
On the surface, the stories in "The Place in Between" are some classic noir pieces that we've heard before. If you've read Rage's previous works, well, you know the man has a few tricks up his sleeves. Rage pulls out all the stops to showcase his twisted reality in which these tales take place. The landscape itself becomes a character of his crazy brain, thus giving these somewhat familiar tales a whole new slant.
"The Place In Between" is the title of the strongest piece in the collection. Imagine a Fasutian tale that were written and directed by John Waters and David Lynch and you start to gather a little of where Steven Rage's mind is. The book feels heavily influenced by both talents – the seedy, dark, weird spliced with the scatological.
Go ahead and order it, folks. But be warned: this book is disgusting. You'll need a strong stomach to handle it. But the reward and payoff is huge. It's not gross for the sake of gross. It's dark fiction at it's finest.

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4.0 out of 5 stars nobody is more brilliantly repulsive than rage, September 7, 2010

By D. Gorman "Crystalline Structure Moon" – See all my reviewsAmazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)

This review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback)

reading steven rage is a little like being a mother who ran out of diapers even though you're locked in a room with a baby who has been living on nothing but 5-alarm texas chili. sure, there are times when you want to puke, but you can't help loving the baby anyway. yes, rage is still gruesome, sickening, twisted, gross, horrific, morose, profane, disgusting, morbid, blasphemous, shocking and repugnant. but these are not the only compliments i can bestow upon this promising new author. but we'll get to that bit later. the 3 short stories that comprise this book are pure rage. the first and last story bring us back to that familiar setting, the harbor. these stories have all the requisite characters and elements that you would expect if you've read steven's earlier work. there are vampire drug lords, addicts, whores, demons that crawl out of people's rectums, perverted sex and all the dregs of society in the darkest of dark settings and situations. they are well crafted extensions of his earlier work, and there is even an effort to tie some of the stories together. visiting this setting again was a blast! he really did have something to add that was compelling and kept the pages turning as often as it kept your stomach turning. he even threw in a few surprises like an artificially created chimp-man and a sexy chicken or two. the first story relies a lot on the modern street venacular again, while remaining intelligent and creatively devised. the last two stories were not so dependant on modern slang, as the lead characters were not the sort of (shall we say) 'sludge' that would need to speak that way. this allows a more clear visage of rage's ability to exhibit a writing prowess that is more accessible to a wider audience. the harbor stories do give rage fans a lot to be thankful for in expanding the previous stories with bizarre, twisted putridness. yet, my favorite story by far was the title story in this book. that is because rage steps away from the harbor and explores a new setting with a whole new disturbing set of circumstances. i truly believe that if rage continues to grow and expand and explore new horizons (especially in new settings), he can reach his full potential as a great writer. much as before, there is an intelligence to this dude's work. his gift as a storyteller is being more finely honed in this work. the fact that he has spent time working in a hospital is apparent, and it comes through in his stories. i can honestly say this is my favorite of anything i have read from him thus far. he's getting dangerously close to getting a 5-star review from me…..and that's not easy to do when writing something that is so far removed from 'ordinary literature'. so to sum up…..yes, this has all the disturbing, grotesque, alarming, horrible elements that you'd want to see in 3 strories by rage…it also has all the fine storytelling…..and he is growing and improving as a writer. i recommend this collection of stories, but i also recommend that you (metaphorically) stock up on diapers first. if he keeps expanding his horizons, he will be a supurb voice and visionary for our dark, backward, malevolent times…even if he remains the pessimistic, ignoble saint and demented sick ticket that we all know and love.

 
 


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Filed under: Amazon, Amazon.com, American Kindle, Australian Books, Bizarro, blood, bloody needle, dark, depravity, Extreme Fiction, fetish, fetish ball, fetish prom, fiction, freaks on a leash, fuck the police, ghosts, horror, kindle, KINDLE and E-Readers, morbid books, nc-17, occult, occult, paranormal, religion and spirtiuality, sexy mess, somebody bleeding, street literature, supernatural, suspense, torture porn Tagged: Art, Conjoined twins, Ebay, Edward Lee, Grim Reverend Steven Rage, Nick Cato, Reverend, Staten Island, United States [image error] [image error] [image error] [image error]

My Only Friend

The bug in my eye speaks to me today. The pain is fierce. It's been lodged in a tear duct for months, only choosing now to communicate. I can feel it flitting around, testing its wings, preparing to depart. The activity of my only friend is compressing my eyeball, pulling me to the dirt and garbage. I screeched as it spoke to me in high-pitched chirps. "Forgive me," it says as it crawls and oozes slowly out. I saw it stretch its wings wide, drying the infectious slick from its back. My only friend flew away as I died watching.

 

 

Filed under: Bizarro, blog, blog writer, blood, dark, depravity, Extreme Fiction, flash fiction, FREE!!!, images, sexy mess Tagged: Business, Eye, Health, Medical Specialties, Medicine, Nasolacrimal duct, Pain Management, Shopping [image error] [image error]

SHE LOVES ME KNOT …

 

shelovesmeshelovesmenot ...

 

 

"SHE LOVES ME NOT"

 

She loves me. 

I ask her to confirm, but she refuses.  My heart is en fuego and a knot of love/pain sits like an agitated sumo wrestler in my center.  All I require is an admission of her feelings and this will cease.

I ask her and again she stubbornly refuses to answer.  Playing coy, I'm guessing.  That's okay; I do understand the chase.  I pursue.  She is the game afoot.

Or toes, for accuracy.

I drop her last wrenched toenail.  It bounces off the others and I smile at her filmy dead eyes.

She loves me not, I conclude.

 

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Filed under: Bizarro, blog, blog writer, dark, depravity, Extreme Fiction, flash fiction, freaks on a leash, FREE!!!, images, mature audiences Tagged: Amazônia Legal, Japan, Japan Sumo Association, Religion and Spirituality, Sumo, Swimming pool, Tokyo, United States [image error]

Interview with BookHuntersBlog.com

Available in Print and Kindle. Look for "PILATE: Director's Cut coming soon in Print from MorbidbookS

Interview with BookHuntersBlog.com 9/11/2008 11:49:00 PM by The Grim Reverend Steven Rage ——————————————————————————– by Marius on Wed May 28, 2008 10:03 am Interview with Steven Rage – Pilate: A Brutal Bible Tale by Marius on Wed May 28, 2008 10:03 am BookHuntersBlog.com: Did you study the craft of writing or dive right into it? Steven Rage: Hit and miss, this class and that, writing, writing and still more writing since the mid-1980s. BHB: What was your motivation behind writing these stories? SR: Growing up in religious schools, Pontius Pilate was always my favorite bible character. I could never figure out why he allowed the torture and crucifixion of what he knew to be an innocent, in fact a holy man? Why? It plagued me for years, and then I remembered a line from the Rolling Stones song Sympathy for the Devil: "I was there when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain; I made damn sure Pilate washed his hands and sealed his fate…" Whose fate? Pontius Pilate's or Jesus'? Then I began to think of vampirism as a punishment of eternal multiple lives, instead of a reward. And then I went to The Harbor and felt the wickedness. It all came together and six years later, TA-DAH! BHB: Are you religious; and if yes, don't you think you have committed blasphemy? SR: I am a spiritual seeker. I do not engage in religiosity that has only one set of right answers and eternal punishments if you've guessed wrong. As far as blasphemy? If I would not have treated Immanuel of The Harbor, Jesus of Nazareth, with anything but the utmost respect and adoration, I would be blasphemous. BHB: Why did you make Jesus female? SR: Immanuel is a female because I think the desire and willingness to sacrifice your life and to subject yourself to torture and defilement for those you see as your children, is an inherent female trait. The fact that Her name Immanuel and Her title of respect, El Cristo is the male forms owes itself to The Harbor. The men and women there are seen as either masculine or feminine. Much more so than straight gender. BHB: Did you ever feel uncomfortable during the writing process? SR: Two parts of Pilate made me feel… unwell. I will let you ponder on what those two were. BHB: Would you say that organized religion has lost its true meaning long ago? SR: Organized religion, by it's very nature, is a small group controlling the thoughts and actions of a larger group. With detailed punishments for lack of compliance. Yeah, I'd say it has long lost its purity of purpose. BHB: What do you think about the future of books with all the new technology coming out (like Kindle and foldable screens)? SR: I'm not up on new technology. POD (publishing on demand) and marketing on the internet is still amazing to me! BHB: How difficult was the publishing process for you? SR: It was horrifying until I accepted that every aspect of the book, idea, research, countless re-writes, all the editing and marketing, are your responsibility. Then it meshed… being a little obsessive-compulsive certainly helped. BHB: How much of your own promotion do you do? SR: Every little bit. BHB: Do you have any tips for aspiring authors? SR: Don't do it for money, do it for posterity.

Or, you can get the KINDLE version!

Someone, somewhere, 20 years after you are long gone is going to read what you wrote and be changed, in some way. Try and top that. BHB: What are your future plans? SR: There are three Brutal Bible Tales. PILATE was published in Jan, 2008. JONAH JOB is being written now, and the third installment, THE DARK MINISTER, centered on a wonderfully creepy Apostle Paul is in the planning stages. BHB: How do you juggle writing with the rest of your life? SR: Stolen moments, creative surges, dry spells, stimulants and long, unhealthy doses of sleep-deprivation. BHB: Do you have any methods or rituals to your writing? SR: I always write the first draft on lineless copy paper in pencil. The final draft of the fist paragraph is the last thing I write. The last page is almost always comes to me about 20-30% into the book. And I can never write when I am pissed off, or in a bad mood. All the gruesome bits come when I feel content and secure… My God, what a Psychology major could make of that! BHB: How do you find inspiration? SR: Spending an incognito week with the real-life inspiration for Immanuel, exploring The Harbor and its unique peoples was critical to the validity of the fictional setting. BHB: Was there one certain event or happening that made you want to write a book? SR: I always wanted to write a bible-inspired story based in modern times that had no intention of pandering to anyone; a story that treats both Dark and Light with the respect all the holy ones, prophets, and deities deserve. BHB: What do you do against writer's block? SR: A full time job! That way, the book is done when it's done. BHB: Do you use an outline when writing? Do you stay linear or do you skip in time? [b] SR: I usually write the outline (timeline) linear. But I like to jump around to build and maintain suspense. I try to make the book enjoyable to readers on several layers and in many different ways. Why not have a horror novel that is based on a bible story, set in modern times, with the grit and grime of drugs and organized crime with suspense sprinkled throughout? BHB: How difficult was it to get an agent? SR: I sent out a hundred queries to get an agent who loved my Brutal Bible Tales….and then waited three long years while I was still being rejected by every publishing house out there. What a waste of time. BHB: How important is a good website and do you utilize blogging? SR: Any success that I may yet acquire can be placed at that doorstep. I blog my PILATE and even some unpublished JONAH JOB excerpts through several web pages, including myspace.com/stevenrage and AllTheseBooks.com. BHB: What do you prefer and why: Mass-market paperback or hard cover for your debut novel? SR: Without a doubt, paperback. It's cheaper, so more people will buy it, read it, and pass it on to a friend with a: "Man, you have got to read this!" Nothing in this world would be better than that! BHB: What are the most difficult and rewarding aspects of being a published writer? SR: The most difficult is all the time marketing requires and the necessary, but sharp learning curve that goes with it. The best is hearing directly from readers the lines, or parts, or even just the characters that grabbed them by the throats and shook 'em. It's not always what you would have guessed… Thank you very much for this opportunity, we wish you much success in your career! The Reverend Steven Rage is available at Amazon…

Filed under: alternate history, Amazon, amazon kindle, Amazon.com, American Kindle, Bizarro, books, brutal bible tale, christianity, dark, depravity, events, paranormal, ghosts, Extreme Fiction, fiction, ghosts, hardcore christian, horror, kindle, KINDLE and E-Readers, mature, mature audiences, nc-17, occult, occult, occult fiction, paranormal, religion and spirtiuality, somebody bleeding, street literature, supernatural, suspense, the grim reverend steven rage, thriller, torture porn, urban noir Tagged: Apostle Paul, El Cristo, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Pilate, Pontius Pilate, Reverend, Rolling Stones [image error]

Orlyn Farr is betting his own life "FOR ALL THE MARBLES" Parts I & II. (hardcore!)

'click' here for this mad shit...

Orlyn Farr is going for FOR ALL THE MARBLES.

After the Cataclysmic Events (ACE), the populace fled the surface to live under-ground. With Ice Age conditions complicating a return to the surface, whole townships formed anew. With limited space, sundries and foodstuffs available, overpopulation soon rears its ugly head. To continue living past the mandatory declining age of 60 annums (thirteen moon cycles), senior citizens must have the financial resources or the political clout to pay for Rx Medical and a luxuriously appointed flat in top-of-the-line Care Centers like Paradise Acres. If you don't have the scratch, you can opt-out. Most seniors choose this option. They quietly accept a hot-shot of Morphine and a final visit above ground. The treacherous white-out conditions on the surface will freeze you solid in a few time-ticks. Or try being a Big Winner. Beg, borrow, or steal enough Federal Reserve Notes and Teleport to the Annual Sixth Decade Tourney. The Big Winner gets Rx Medical and a flat at Paradise Acres. Along with all the lime gelatin, fellatio and potent narcotics your old ass can gobble. If you lose, well… you should have opted-out. But not our stalwart adventurer.

Orlyn Farr is betting his own life FOR ALL THE MARBLES.

 

       "FOR ALL THE MARBLES"

PART I

Hedging My Bets. Spilling The Beans:

I just turned 60 annums old. The BINGO tournament in Bogota is less than a month away and I hadn't a pot to piss in. I was forced to live with my kids and their kids in a cold, cramped domicile. It was underground in The Harbor and it forever smelled like stale cabbage and unwashed flesh.

When my son looks at me, I can tell he looking forward to me opting-out. Neither of us can pay the after 60 tax, for it is purposefully prohibitive in cost. We had no political connections. I suspected he'd already spent my Death Insurance he'll get when I go up top and freeze to death. He also looks at my corner, and I can read his face like an open book. It was filled with thoughts on renting my corner to a relative that actually had the funds to pay for it.

There's no place I can run to, so I was planning on just going in early, opting-out, and getting it over with, when the message came in. It was coded and secret, which was strange all on its own. I have never in my fairly pointless time on this frozen shitsicle of a planet got an important message like that one. I couldn't receive it at home. Instead, I must make way through The Harbor's tunnel system to the Postal Center. There, after I give them a drop of blood from one of my fingers, I can retrieve the momentous message.

I left immediately for the Postal Center. Once there, I had my wrist scanned for the legal bar-coding chip we legal Harbor citizens have for ID. My finger tip was punched for the blood sample. It naturally beeped at my age, locking me into the security pod until the machines sorted it out. It unlocked, seeing that I have a month left to live, and allowed me to proceed to a private viewing station. I went inside the station and secure-locked the sliding door with my thumb-print. I centered myself in front of the screen. As I did so, it lit up. A beam of light scanned a bust shot of me, no doubt a redundant security measure. Whoever I was about to talk to wanted to make very sure I was who I said I was. In a moment it was done. An old human woman came on the screen. She had to be every penny of 80 annums old. I've never seen anyone that old before. Not in person, anyway. She must be important in a way I can't comprehend. She looked pretty healthy too. Her eyes were clear and sharp and she had a full head of hair. When she smiled, I could see that the woman had all of her teeth. It all must have cost her a fortune. The only thing wrong was the hissing of medical gases and the slight blue tinge to her lips.

"Greetings, Mr. Orlyn Farr, I am Chess Master," she began. "You are 60 annums old. Have you made your final arrangements? Have you found your peace?"

Stupid, I know, but I started laughing. There's just no way it could really be her. Ever since she took over, Chess Master ran everything in The Harbor. And she probably wasn't limited to just our shit hole. I'd never seen an image of her. I don't know anyone who has. Yet, she was supposed to be here, conversing in secret to Orlyn Farr, a guy who can't even pay for one more year of his ridiculous life. No way. And then I got scared, for what if she is who she says she is? What the fuck do I do then? Begging would be a good start. I stifled my laughter like it never was.

"Greetings to you, Chess Master," I replied, not knowing any of the protocol for this sort of deal.

"I can see from the blood that has drained from your face, that you believe me?"

"Um, uh, well – yes, I do." I stammered like an imbecile. She seemed to take it in stride.

"Good, because I don't have any time to waste, Mr. Farr,"

"Yes, Sir," I replied.

"Then answer my question, Mr. Farr: have you made your final arrangements?"

"No, Sir, I haven't." I frowned. The realization I guess just hit me with full force right then. "I mean, I can't afford the tax, so I guess I will have to opt-out. I'm far too old and sick to run."

"What about your family, Mr. Farr? They can't pay the tax for you?"

"No, they can't, Sir. Painfully, though, I don't think they would, even if they had the means."

"You don't get along with them?" Chess Master asked me.

I thought about it, but only for a moment. I said: "I think I take up valuable space that my son could get rent for."

"He's probably counting your Death Insurance too, I'd imagine."

"Yes," I said plainly. "Opting-out is for the best, I'm sure."

She said nothing for a moment. Chess Master was looking down at something, below my view screen. Checking on something, she seemed to be.

"Have you considered BINGO?"

"You mean the tournament in Bogota, Sir?"

"Yes."

"I couldn't even afford to take a bicycle taxi to the Teleport Station, let alone the whole package, Sir."

"What if I was willing to sponsor you, Mr. Farr? I'll go further and say that since time is such a concern for me, I can tell you, in complete confidence, of course –"

"Of course, Sir," I replied. I was quite intrigued by then.

"Good. What if, in addition to sponsoring your costs, I was to insure that you win?" she asked.

I'll tell you some truth: a dropped pin could have been heard. I stared at her bluing lips and how they had darkened as she spoke. Chess Master was keeping her composure intact, but I could see she was suffering. Her lips lightened as she breathed in the medicated mist.

"How can you do that?" I asked Chess Master, the fear of her momentarily lapsing. "You can't do that, no one can." I insisted.

"My dear fellow," she hissed, angry. "You'll find that there is nothing I can't do. There's no move I can't make and there is no game I can't win. I say the word and you will be sent to Bogota where you will win the BINGO tournament. Your reward will be anything and everything your little heart desires."

Something tiny, hope I suppose, began building inside me. It started to swell to the point where I could think of nothing else. She is promising me the moon and the stars. Strangely, I knew she could deliver the goods.

But, what, I wondered, did she want in return? I had absolutely nothing to bargain with. What did she want?

"What do you want in return," I went ahead and asked her. "You must know that I couldn't possibly have anything you would want or need, Sir."

"On the contrary, Mr. Farr, you have exactly what I need," she explained. "Or, rather, your granddaughter, Vanessa has."

"Vanessa? Sir, she's only 6 annums old, she's barely started school."

"I'm aware of her age, Mr. Farr," she replied, testily. "I need her because my heart is failing and she is my exact genetic match."

The clouds parted and the angels sang. I got it, but could I do it?

"I see," I managed.

"Yes, well, time is of the essence, Mr. Farr, which is why you are being made this exclusive offer. I'm afraid there is a great deal of work yet to be done, so I will need your answer, straightaway."

"By when," I asked "a few days?"

"Sorry, no," she replied. "I'm afraid I need your answer right now."

I thought about it, I'm not ashamed to say. I even thought about saying no. But, in the end, there's no I in TEAM. But there is one in BINGO.

I told Chess Master where little Vanessa could be found.

"Chess can be described as the movement of pieces eating one another."

Marcel Duchamp

 

 PART II

My Last Meal and Testament:

The Tourney officials organized the BINGO Cabaret and Mixer for us tournament players and volunteers. It was being held in the fancy-schmancy grand ballroom of the Bogota resort. It's always a first-class wing-a-ding, and this year's was no exception.

I was waiting in my hotel room. I was smoking a nice, fat, complimentary joint while receiving some complimentary head from a re-animated corpse. Although she was cold and blue and not much of a conversationalist, the formerly-living did suck one Hell of a good dick.

Now that the chamber of my geriatric love gun has been emptied, I could finish getting ready. The honor bar was unlocked. Inside were pills and powders and tiny syringes of clear fluids galore. They were all labeled by name, as well as action. I was trying to decide what all I wanted to imbibe. I was getting frustrated at all the choices. Usually, the only drugs I saw were the ones other people were doing. I racked my memory banks, but it had been so long, I don't even recall what I used to like, besides weed. So, I chose the pragmatic route and took them all. I tossed a few random pills down my gullet. I laid out some of the powders and snorted them with a rolled Note until I started feeling really strange. I looked in the mirror and could hardly see my reflection. Between the drugs kicking in and my cataracts, my vision was seriously flawed. I saw my vague reflection morph into two and then I knew I was ready to go. I left my room and headed to the grand ballroom. When I got there, the Mixer was already in full swing.

It was a wonderful collection of the freaky and deranged. I could see that they had a cabaret show going full bore up on the main stage. On two side stages, amongst too many manned mini-bars to count, the fetish proms were located. Full humans, Halflings, Pit Demons, ghosts of the damned and the formerly-living zombies were filling up the ballroom. Folks were suspended from hooks piercing the flesh of their backs, spinning with their heads thrown back, in big circles above the crowd. A bright red demon girl with fake heavenly angel's wings walked around, offering quick injections to the party-goers. The demon girl called the shots 'angel kisses'. Judging from the animated reactions of the injected, the 'angel kisses' housed some really killer speed.

I was anticipating a kiss myself when my progress was thwarted. A huge bouncer type motherfucker stood as an impenetrable wall of blue and green scales. He looked at me with his giant yellow lizard eyes, having scanned my wrist. I started walking into to the festive fiesta and the bouncer stopped me cold.   

 "You not going in, Mr. Farr," he growled. His breath smelled like fermenting piss.
"The fuck I'm not, Gargan!" I told him, right to his pierced nipples. Lizard-boy hadn't a clue what I had to do to get here. There was no way he was going to stop me, no matter how big he was. Don't get me wrong, I'm not brave. I'm not the rough and tumble type, but this gigantic ass clown was not going to keep Orlyn Farr from getting down on the get-down. I was bunching up, waiting for shit to escalate when he deflated me in an instant. Instead of answering, the behemoth handed me a note. It was handwritten on fancy, pricey parchment. I already knew who it was from, so I stepped out of line and opened the note. It read:

My Dear Mr. Farr,

I apologize for keeping you from the public festivities. You must understand, Sir, I have a rather large investment in you, as per our agreement. I cannot allow any public indiscretions, nor can I take any chances on you getting injured or ill. I must insist you return to your hotel room, where a private party is being prepared for you. If you do not comply, you will automatically forfeit your portion of our contract, and you will be remanded for an immediate opt-out.

Sincerely Yours, CM

Well, shitballs. Having no choice, I turned on heel to go back to my room. Once there, I went inside and saw that the cabaret had come to me.

A pretty young zombie man greeted me at the door. He stuck a needle in my thigh. I began smiling uncontrollably for the rest of the evening. We walked around the mostly zombie party.

They weren't interested in eating or drinking, slugging or drugging, so there was more of everything than I could ever consume. But I gave it my best shot.

When I finally passed out, hours later, my testicles hurt from overuse and my head was swimming and spinning. I vomited most of the real animal flesh I'd gluttoned down.

The zombie boy helped me get into the big, comfortable, oversized bed. His cold kiss is the last thing I recalled.

The next day at high noon, the BINGO tournament began.

"The older I grow, the more I value Pawns."

Paul Keres

Filed under: alternate history, Amazon, amazon kindle, Amazon.com, American Kindle, Bizarro, books, christianity, dark, depravity, Extreme Fiction, fetish, fetish prom, fiction, freaks on a leash, ghosts, hardcore christian, horror, kindle, mature, mature audiences, morbid books, nc-17, occult, occult, occult fiction, paranormal, religion and spirtiuality, serial killers, sexy bleeding vampire pics, small press, supernatural, suspense, the grim reverend steven rage, thriller, torture porn, urban noir, zombies Tagged: A Nightmare on Elm Street, amazon, amazon.com, Arts, Bath Festival of Children's Literature, Begging, bizarro, blood, Board Games, books, Californication, Chess, Chess master, Diane Farr, Digi-Comp II, drugs, experimental, Federal Reserve Note, fiction, Games, horror, killers, KINDLE, Maker Faire, Marble, medical, monsters, Nicholas Nip, Nick Farr-Jones, noir, occult, Online Writing, Recreation, Samuel Sevian, San Francisco, supernatural, suspense, The Girl Code: The Secret Language of Single Women (On Dating Sex Shopping and Honor Among Girlfriends), thriller, United States, United States Chess Federation

Attention Span of a Gnat? Get 'flashed' from The Reverend (#2)

 

 

[image error]United States