Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 88

Alcohol of Fame

VERSE 1
How could you do this to yourself?
How could you endanger your health?
How could you put them through hell?
Is it too late to ask for fucking help?

CHORUS 1
Alcohol of fame
Your career’s going up in flames
Alcohol of fame
You’ve only got yourself to blame

VERSE 2
Snort a little cocaine, shoot some heroin
Chugging Oxycontin and good old Vicodin
Popping Viagra while committing mortal sins
The pressure brings you to your dirty shins

CHORUS 2
Alcohol of fame
Your excuses are so damn lame
Alcohol of fame
You make zombies look so tame

VERSE 3
Everything of yours is going down the tubes
You’re fucking yourself with bloody lube
You’re smashing up your own hotel room
Wake the fuck up or meet your own doom

CHORUS 3
Alcohol of fame
Your pathetic stories sound the same
Alcohol of fame
Watch it all go down the drain
Yeah!
Alcohol of fame
Psycho visions swirling in your brain
Alcohol of fame
Watch you dying in the coldest rain

FINAL VERSE
It’s never too late to turn back the clock
And drag your sorry ass back to the top
Admitting you’re wrong is the first step
Lying to yourself is the bridge to death
You can be clean and start over again
Or you can be the author of your life’s end
Make a decision, don’t think too hard
The road to recovery is no holds barred

A Wonderful Day to Take a Nap

CHORUS
It’s a wonderful day to take a nap
With a cute little kitty on your lap
A wonderful day to take a snooze
Dream away your moodiest blues

VERSE 1
The rain is pouring, the puppy is snoring
Everything else is delightfully boring
Lullaby music is playing so softly
Sleep like you’re in the arms of your mommy
Under the blanket so cuddly and warm
Keeping you safe from the rainiest storm
Counting the sheep as you fall asleep
Snuggling with them feels so sweet

EXTENDED CHORUS
It’s a wonderful day to take a nap
With a cute little kitty on your lap
A wonderful day to take a snooze
Dream away your moodiest blues
A wonderful day to rest your bones
Turn off the TV, unplug your phone
A wonderful day to have a dream
Until the sun shines its bright beams

VERSE 2
Pour yourself a glass of warm milk
Wrap yourself in a blanket of silk
Snuggle with puppies and kitties
Whether they’re big or just itty-bitty
When you snooze, nobody will lose
Stay in your bed as long as you choose
Listen to raindrops on your window
Listen to the mighty wind blow

EXTENDED CHORUS 2
It’s a wonderful day to take a nap
The weather outside will start to sap
A wonderful day to take a snooze
Until the sunshine brings colorful hues
A wonderful day to rest your head
In the softest and warmest of beds
A wonderful day to snore and drool
Until your pillow becomes a pool

VERSE 3
Rock-a-bye baby on the treetop
The wind and rain won’t stop
Come inside for a place to hide
Under the covers, you sweetie pie
We’re one big cuddly family
Of animals and sweet little peas
It’s a wonderful day to nod off
In the beddy-bye ever so soft

Lysergic Bugs Bunny Cartoon

VERSE 1
What’s up, doc, besides your cock?
Enough with the talk, it’s time to rock
Purple elephants and yellow zebras
Acid rainfall for continuous seasons
Epic battles with bloody violence
Crushing kick from a kung fu tigress
Your imagination is running wild
Like it used to when you were a child

CHORUS
Lysergic Bugs Bunny cartoon!

VERSE 2
With all the colors painted on your brain
Pour your heart out all over the page
Paint a picture with your rainbow blood
Make some music with your stoner bud
Unicorns with those devilish horns
Dark elf sex too X-rated for porn
This is your art; it comes from your heart
Nobody will tell you it’s just a brain fart

CHORUS
Lysergic Bugs Bunny cartoon!

VERSE 3
Is it genius or insanity? Who gives a shit?
Just have lots of fun while you’re doing it
Just one star? Give me a fucking break
You’ve seen many stars reflecting off the lake
A golden raspberry is a delicious fruit
A clown’s costume is a business suit
Gobbledygook is the perfect hook
Certain to sell a shit load of books

EXTENDED CHORUS
Lysergic Bugs Bunny cartoon!
Let’s all trip out like buffoons!
Necromancy written out in runes!
Pyromancy will be the law soon!
Theomancy is for the looniest loons!
Electromancy is for the metal tunes!
Let’s go crazy! Let’s get naughty!
Drop your drawers! Shake your body!

FINAL LINE
Lysergic Bugs Bunny cartoon!

Valentine's Day

***VALENTINE’S DAY***

Valentine’s Day is now in our rearview mirrors and for many single people out there, that’s a good thing. They like to call it Singles Awareness Day because they don’t have anybody to share their special day with. I used to be just as angry and bitter about it as anyone else who hated this holiday. And then when this year’s Valentine’s Day came and went, I realized something important for coping with future February 14th holidays.

How is this day different from any other? It doesn’t have the magic and joy of Christmas. It doesn’t have the dark fantasy charisma of Halloween. It doesn’t have the food devouring of Thanksgiving. It’s just a normal day of the year. Yes, it’s love themed and there are a lot of chocolates and candy available. But if it’s sweet treats you want, get a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups at your local convenience store. If you want a stuffed teddy bear, buy one on Amazon any other day of the year. If you’re in a relationship and you have to wait until February 14th to get some true romance in, there’s something wrong with your chemistry. To my way of thinking, celebrating romance one day a year is like celebrating any other mundane activity whether it’s doing laundry, washing dishes, or going to work.

Would you like to take any guesses as to how I spent my Valentine’s Day? I can tell you that it wasn’t anything like last year where I ate my sorrows away with a large Pizza Hut pizza. Sure, my “heavy metal of the day” on Face Book was “This Love” by Pantera, but that’s not the point. I spent February 14th doing laundry, not only my own, but also my parents’. My parents are Baby Boomers who can’t climb the steps as fast as they used to, so they rely on me to ferry clothes up to the garage to wash and dry them. Not only do we now have fresh laundry, but my mom has gained a lot of appreciation for having me around the house (not that she didn’t already have it to begin with). In between doing loads of my parents’ laundry, I watched WWE Smackdown and ate take-out sushi that my brother James brought home.

I find as I get older that I appreciate low-key events more often. I like low-key holidays, low-key vacations, and low-key concerts. Yes, most of the concerts I go to are heavy metal and hard rock, but instead of getting fucked up in the mosh pit, I take a seat in the bleachers. Sitting down between bands is easy on my legs, which is why I can no longer attend shows at the Showbox venues in Seattle or Studio 7 in the same city: they don’t have chairs. I even asked if I could bring my own beanbag chair to the Showbox and though the nice lady agreed I should be able to do that, they can’t accommodate me in that department. At 31-years-old and tipping the scale in the 300 district, I have to start thinking low-key, which includes being in a neutral mood on Valentine’s Day.

It’s funny, because I posted a synopsis in my folder at the WSS about a short story dealing with Valentine’s Day in a negative light. The story would have been called “I Don’t Believe In Love” and would be about a theater student doing a passionate monologue on how exclusive the holiday is. Instead of writing that short story, I wrote a chapter of Demon Axe where Daniel Mercer a.k.a. The Lord of the Pit was tortured with his own genre of music. Great stuff, huh? It’s like something out of A Clockwork Orange. Or it could be like Tales From the Hood with fully-clothed characters.

The only Valentine’s Day thing I really did was buy a gift for my beta reader Marie Krepps. I brag about her every chance I get, so it’s only natural that I get her something nice from her Amazon wish list. In a way, she could be my valentine despite the fact that she’s already married with four lovely daughters. Then again, valentines don’t have to necessarily be love interests. One year I had my black cat Pete as my valentine. Pete has since passed on to the Rainbow Bridge. But goddamn, he was a sweet little valentine!

Depending on whom you are or what your circumstances entail, Valentine’s Day can either be the happiest day of your life or the most miserable. If you like this holiday, more power to you and I wish you infinite happiness. If you hate this holiday with a passion, you don’t have to. If you’re really that starved for romantic affection, masturbate to some sexy You Tube videos. That’s what I did one year and those endorphins came rushing in like…well, you see where I’m going with this. But if masturbating isn’t your thing, then find some way to occupy your time. As long as your mind and spirit are busy with something to do, Valentine’s Day will be just as neutral to you as it is to me.

We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 15***

I’m getting closer and closer to the end of this first draft novel and I couldn’t be more excited! Chapter fifteen will start off with Daniel being released from his straps and knocking down the door to his room by bellowing into his microphone. Seems like a nice way to begin a chapter as far as I’m concerned, especially considering how Daniel Mercer has been easily-triggered throughout the whole story. He realizes how much responsibility he has on his shoulders and will now take this quest against Roger seriously. Or to put it in his oh-so-lovely terms, “Let’s fuck shit up!”


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

I have to be honest with you guys for a minute. I haven’t been writing as many Poison Tongue Tales 2 short stories lately, which means my character roster for the Dark Fantasy Warriors series is rapidly depleting. The next one on the chopping block will be Marco Said from “Staple Gun Gangster”, but after that, here are all the characters I have left:

1. Bear Man, Human Bassist (Demon Axe)
2. Dijas Kai, Lion Samurai (Screw the Zoo)
3. Scott Percival, Cyborg Soldier (Shield Me)
4. Seven, Undead Prophet (The Theomancer)
5. Sonia Marquez, Human Mixed-Martial Artist (Demon Axe)

Your eyes do not deceive you. After Marco Said, there will only be five Dark Fantasy Warriors left, which will be just enough to complete my 100 Characters Meme by the time they’re finished. In this case, the meme will be used for drawings that I’ve done in color, which dates back to early 2016 (the year of death). I know doing Deviant Art memes isn’t the most exciting thing one can do with his or her time, but to my way of thinking, this will be my way of celebrating a milestone.


***CYBORGS AND SORCERY***

About a week ago, Marie Krepps asked me to beta read four short stories of hers which will ultimately be part of a published collection called Cyborgs and Sorcery. I’ve gotten through her two longest stories and she seemed happy with my snarky critiques. The next two stories are only three or four pages long, give or take, so on the day of my choosing I can blow through both of them and write a passing grade review for the collection the same day.


***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What did Avril Lavigne say to Bullwinkle?

A: Hey, hey! You, you! I don’t like your squirrel friend!

Demon Axe, Chapter 14

In traumatic situations, doctors were supposed to provide delicate care so as not to trigger raw emotions. But when Daniel Mercer thrashed around in his hospital bed punching and kicking anything that moved, he had to be held down by the toughest of the tough. Three different nurses held his left arm. Two doctors held his right arm. One of the bigger nurses laid across his shins.

The Lord of the Pit roared and screamed his head off with his most demonic voice, but the medical staff’s pressure on his limbs increased even more. He got so cantankerous that they had to strap him in bed with leather buckles. Even in bondage his head bounced off the pillow as he howled like a wounded animal.

All it took was one jab in the arm and a press of the plunger. Daniel felt coldness running through his veins to sooth his burning anger. The volume of his possessed screams got lower as his breathing intensified. His eyelids became heavier than dumbbells. His clenched jaw relaxed to where his tongue was hanging out like a dog. While he wasn’t completely knocked out, he was drowsy enough that the doctors and nurses could wipe the sweat off their foreheads and breathe sighs of relief.

“I’ll take it from here, guys. Thank you very much,” said a familiar male voice. The medical staff huffed and heaved their way out of the semi-private room after such an exhausting struggle. Even with blurry vision and a relaxed mind, Daniel could make out the cue ball head of Detective Shawn Henry, the man who brought him to this hospital in the first place.

As the delirious snoozer tried to form words, Detective Henry placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to signify that he’ll be the one who does the talking. “You’re in a safe place now, Daniel. You were a pain in the ass to get here, but that just goes to show how much of a fighter you really are. I can only imagine what kind of pain you were in when Roger Zee tortured you. It’s one thing to use musical torture on somebody else. But to a man who built his entire life around that genre of music…it’s unacceptable. It’s like A Clockwork Orange for the good guys.”

Daniel once again tried to form a coherent sentence, but he ended up sounding like a drunken stroke victim. He seemed to get Shawn’s message with little nods here and there.

The detective placed a hand on Daniel’s knee and said, “You may not realize it right now, but we need you now more than ever. Roger Zee has the entire police force under his control. I should have never let him get to those computers. Even so, there’s still a chance we can put him away once and for all. I have a pretty good idea of where he’s taking his newfound forces.”

“…Lay-len…Lay-len!” said Daniel with a swollen tongue.

“Yes, Daniel, you’ve mentioned this Raven girl to me before. Is she your girlfriend?” asked Shawn, to which the Lord of the Pit flashed a retarded grin. The detective flashed a small grin himself and said, “Whoever she is, we’ll find her before Roger can hurt her. I know it seems like we’re wasting time in this hospital, but trust me, you’re in no condition to be chasing bad guys right now. You might be better in the morning, depending on just how long you spent at that black site. Either way, you’re the only one who can stop this madman. With that microphone of yours, you might even be able to talk some sense into my colleagues.”

Daniel shook his head and allowed his tongue to dangle from side to side like a pendulum of spittle. His attempts at “Uh-uh” grew stronger the more he realized what he was being asked to do.

“I know you don’t think much of your music right now. I know you think that you can’t do this without your band mates. But like it or not, you’re a huge part of this puzzle. While you’re not even close to being the one to blame for Roger’s violence, he’s taking a huge interest in your vocation, not to mention everything your music stands for.”

Shawn leaned in closer with this next sentence. “You are the creative force behind every music group you’ve been a part of. Even with traumatic nightmares, you’re one of the most imaginative people I’ve ever known. That scares Roger. He doesn’t like creativity. He shuns individuality. He wants this world to be just as boring and dull as him. You can’t let that happen. You’ve got to put a line through that.”

Daniel made a whiny groan in his throat while slamming his head on the pillow in disbelief. Shawn patted his knee and said, “I know we’re asking a lot of you. But this is a responsibility you were custom built for, my friend. Don’t think of these civilians as mere strangers. Think of them as audience members. They’re gathering around you so that you can put on a show for them. Not just any show, but one that will fill them with positive memories. Memories that will make them want to come back for more. Even with your most violent lyrics, you inspire an entire generation of listeners to face the hardest parts of life.”

The Lord of the Pit had a flat tire hiss and shook his head. Breathing a sigh of relief, Shawn knew he had to pull out the big guns to get this reluctant hero’s attention. He reached in his pocket and pulled out something that made Daniel’s eyes light up like Las Vegas.

“You see this, Mr. Mercer? This right here is the very first Demon Axe album. I bought it after the two of us met for the very first time. I admit, it was a god-awful interview at your house, but if it wasn’t for that, I would have never known about your music. I have to say, this is a pretty goddamn good album. I don’t claim to be the biggest metal head on planet earth, but even I think this is pretty fucking good. You and your band mates put a lot of hard work into every song on this CD. Your band mates gave you their lives, now it’s time to finish the job.”

Tears rolled down Daniel’s cheeks as he made little whimpering noises through his nose. Shawn grabbed a paper towel from the counter and wiped them away ever so delicately. He said, “I can tell you’re still not convinced. You somehow have it in you that you let everyone down by allowing yourself to be tortured. You didn’t let anyone down, Daniel. Some things in life are beyond our control. But this road that lies ahead of you, this road to recovery, it begins and ends with putting Roger Zee in his grave. To help you along the way, I brought another surprise for you.”

Shawn motioned toward the doorway and two nurses wheeled a gigantic radio into the room. The detective pulled out yet another CD, though Daniel’s eyes widened when he couldn’t tell what the album was. The Lord of the Pit made loud whining noises in anticipation of more torture. He thrashed around in his straps, but no amount of white hot rage could set him free.

The gentle piano music, on the other hand, could, at least psychologically. The pianist’s fingers danced lightly and gracefully across the keys, especially near the lower octaves to provide the sweetest lullaby to a pain-wracked Daniel. The whining and whimpering was reduced to silent drooling and a spaced-out look in his eyes. With his hands at his lap, he performed the one technique that got him through the death of his Demon Axe brethren. He tapped his left leg, then his right, then his left, then his right, almost in perfect harmony with the tranquilizing piano music.

“Lay-len…Lay-len…Lay-len…”

Shawn smiled at Daniel and said, “Raven was the one who taught you that technique. That’s called EMDR. I’d definitely say she’s a keeper, my friend. If you don’t do this for anybody else, do this for her. She’s depending on you.”

Daniel formed another stupid-looking grin on his face while his eyes danced in different directions. Shawn covered his own face as he noticed a sizable lump growing in Daniel’s shorts. The detective jokingly said, “Too much information, buddy! Too much information!”

The Lord of the Pit chuckled in his moment of quasi-embarrassment and kept tapping his thighs until his eyelids closed for the final time of the night. Daniel’s face fell to the side of his pillow and he ended his evening with a combination of frothing drool and lawnmower snores.

Shawn smiled again and shook his head. Meanwhile, one of the nurses produced Daniel’s magical microphone and asked, “Where do you want me to leave this?”

The detective took it and said, “I’ve got a nice place for it when he’s ready to wake up.” Confident that the singer was lost in dreamland, Shawn placed the microphone handle in Daniel’s hand and closed his fingers around it. The cop was careful not to allow the mouthpiece near his drooling sewer hole, but it was right there when he needed it. Even in his subconscious’s theater, Daniel Mercer had a decision to make: run away and never turn back or fight like the warrior he was always meant to be.

That's Not Love

VERSE 1
Fondling her tits doesn’t make you a stud
She hates it even more when you grab her butt
This isn’t the classic tale of Romeo & Juliet
This is a traumatic nightmare she won’t forget
Every time you snap an unwanted photograph
Every time you crudely joke and nobody laughs
She’s thinking of spraying you right in the eyes
Even if it takes her more than fifty fucking tries

CHORUS
That’s! Not! Love! X2

VERSE 2
Fifty shades of sexualized violence
Fifty shades of embarrassed silence
Fifty shades of suicidal misery
Fifty shades of unsolvable mysteries
Touch her again and you’ll draw back a stump
Arrogant preening doesn’t give you the right to hump
Your washboard abs don’t mean fucking shit
Keep your goddamn hands off her fucking tits

EXTENDED CHORUS 1
That’s! Not! Love!
That’s! Not! Love!
This! Is! A Crime!
You! Will! Do Time!

VERSE 3
Great job, Romeo, you’ve found new romance
That’s why you’re wearing low baggy pants
It’s prison code for, “I want your load”
You’ll be squealing like a pig, croaking like a toad
There is no reward for sexual harassment
There is no future for a sexual assassin
I don’t give a fuck who the president is
Nobody wants your disgusting ass jizz

EXTENDED CHORUS 2
That’s! Not! Love!
That’s! Not! Love!
This! Is! A Crime!
You! Will! Do Time!
Passionate love is a legitimate emotion
But not when you’ve got a stalker’s devotion
Not when your dick is a lethal weapon
Not when you’re a sex offender level seven

FINAL LINE
This! Is! Not! Fucking! Love!

Zealot

VERSE 1
Holding peaceful protesters hostage
Grinding individuality into sausage
Never knowing what will cause it
Bigoted tendencies out of the closet
A zealot in the worst sense of the word
Keeping the masses caged like birds
Clipping their wings so they can’t fly
Slashing their throats, they can’t say bye

CHORUS
I don’t believe in you or your ideas
I don’t believe in your verbal diarrhea
I don’t believe in the life of a zealot
I don’t feel the least bit fucking jealous

VERSE 2
Keeping their eyes glued to the TV
Keeping your words far from PG
Keeping your presence hypnotic
Keeping your bombs atomic
When you offend, it’s for the ratings
When you pick fights, it’s race baiting
The midnight slot is too good for you
Shoot the TV with a shotgun boom

CHORUS
I don’t believe in you or your ideas
I don’t believe in your verbal diarrhea
I don’t believe in the life of a zealot
I don’t feel the least bit fucking jealous

BRIDGE
The violence, the riots, they’re all your fault
The hoax, the jokes, in the wound goes the salt
The rebels, the devils, they’ve got your balls
The hellions, the zealots, they all must fall

VERSE 3
At the end of the day, was it all worth it?
Did you achieve your ultimate purpose?
Did you get everything handed to you?
Did you get revenge on the ones you sued?
All you created was a world of dead shit
Flames and infernos are eternally lit
Did this to yourself with your puppeteer’s help
Let’s pull your string and hear you yell

EXTENDED CHORUS
I don’t believe in you or your ideas
I don’t believe in your verbal diarrhea
I don’t believe in the life of a zealot
I don’t feel the least bit fucking jealous
I don’t believe the blind leading the blind
I don’t believe it is heaven that I’ll find
I don’t believe in the life of an assassin
I don’t believe in politics for ransom

Pushing Characters

***PUSHING CHARACTERS***

If you’re an author and you work in a relatively small space when it comes to your stories, you have to be careful about which characters you push and which ones are just for show. When I say push, I’m not talking about shoving them off a cliff and watching them fall to their deaths, although some characters deserve such a fate. The word “push” is wrestling lingo for heavily advertising a character and building him or her to be stronger. Wrestling companies push their superstars by giving them a series of wins and championship accolades. Authors push their characters by having them overcome difficult obstacles, show emotion when necessary, and generally be the star of the show.

Some authors have the ability to push multiple characters and make them look good while doing it (as opposed to overrated). The reason I mentioned working within a small space earlier is because I’m not one of those authors. There was a time when I had the endurance to write long ass stories, but that time has passed. My short stories and novel chapters are generally anywhere between 1,500 to 2,000 words apiece. Ergo, if I don’t have many characters in these stories, at least ones that I can properly push onto the reader.

I’ve been in situations where I had too many characters and couldn’t adequately describe them all, so I had to murder some of them. Killing off inconvenient characters is a literary sin due to the perceived laziness of not being able to develop that person. Hell, I could be accused of doing this as I’m writing Demon Axe. I’m getting set to write the fourteenth chapter and already eight major characters have died so far: G-Pac, Pig Man, Vulture Man, Bear Man, Tarantula Man, Lady Killer, Johnny Vega, and Sonia Marquez.

Eight fucking characters! While I realize that death and destruction are both central themes to any story about terrorism, I still feel like I could do so much more with these eight dead bodies other than have their spiritual essences torment Daniel during moments of insanity. I’ve even considered deleting Johnny and Sonia from this novel altogether, but nothing is set in stone just yet.

While I acknowledge that most of my readers are in no way wrestling fans (just ask the people who reviewed “Occupy Wrestling”), you had to have seen this analogy coming from miles away: The Divas Revolution. In 2015, WWE did a storyline where three factions of female wrestlers feuded over the Divas Championship and general dominance over the WWE. You had Team PCB (Paige, Charlotte, and Becky Lynch), Team Bella (Brie Bella, Nikki Bella, and Alicia Fox), and Team BAD (Naomi, Tamina, and Sasha Banks).

What’s wrong? You have no idea who these people are? Don’t worry, you’re not alone. The whole purpose of the Divas Revolution was to push all nine of these women into stardom. Considering they had limited TV time, what started off as a mass push ended up being a cluster-fuck of forgettable faces and undeveloped characters. It should come as no surprise that for the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards that year, the Divas Revolution was considered the Worst Feud of the Year, second place for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic, and third place for Worst Gimmick. Ouch!

There are several solutions in which I could solve my own Divas Revolution crisis with Demon Axe. I could expand it into more chapters to give my characters more room to develop. I could delete characters who never meant more than traumatic ghosts. I even considered having a chapter before number twelve where the imprisoned characters sit around and talk to each other about their hopes and dreams. Nothing builds a character quite like dialogue and emotion. Then again, why wrack my brain when all I’m trying to do is write a first draft? All great projects start out as fertilizer before they grow into redwoods and oak trees.

If you’re a fellow author or you just love to read books, this question of the day is for you. How would you handle character development if you have lots of characters who need it? Considering my author friends all write longer stories than me, I’m already anticipating what the answer will be. In fact, I can see it coming from miles away. To quote The Who, “I can see for miles and miles and miles!” We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 14***

There are two possible routes I could go down when it comes to this chapter. One of them is to follow the original blueprints and have Daniel give a pep talk to the puppet string cops guarding the gateway to the elven world. The other route is to have Daniel spend some time in the hospital, which would make the most sense considering how badly he was tortured in the previous chapter. While the latter would make the most sense, it doesn’t really give a sense of urgency when it comes to stopping Roger Zee from doing what he wanted to do. Decisions, decisions…


***FACE BOOK STATUS OF THE DAY***

Just once I’d like to see a rapper with the stage name Apollo-G.

Demon Axe, Chapter 13

It didn’t matter how many times Daniel Mercer screamed for help, because not even his heavy metal death cry could wake the dead bodies left in the holding cell. As he sat in an even darker room with his hands and legs bound, the brutalized corpses of his friends kept flashing across his face like schizophrenic ghosts. He screamed for them to go away and stop haunting him, but the louder his screams became, the less his tortured brain cared.

No matter how many times he tormented himself with these images, it couldn’t compare to the actual strobe lights dancing and flickering across the room, each of them blindingly bright to where closing his eyes didn’t relieve the soreness. Obnoxiously loud music blared in the background and pierced his eardrums like a poisonous dart. Not even Daniel’s shrieks for help could drown out this familiar heavy metal beat. The same grinding guitars, funky bass, and machinegun drums that he had grown to love were being used to make his ears bleed. The vocalist’s death growls were indecipherable, though something about a “Valentine’s Day Massacre” seemed vaguely familiar.

“Turn it off, Roger! Turn that shit off! I can’t take it anymore!” shouted Daniel. Instead of getting what he demanded, the volume was turned to its absolute maximum and the strobe lights were even faster and even more grating on his eyes. The music could probably be heard from miles away, but Daniel was right here feeling his brain turn to mush, either through physical brain damage or going insane.

His eardrums went numb and his vision made him a candidate for Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder jokes until the end of time. In what Daniel thought was his temporary moment of freedom, the ghosts of his fallen comrades paid him a visit once more. The original members of Demon Axe were the first to show their floating heads and dangling spinal cords.

“You fucked up, Daniel. You fucked up badly, my friend,” said Vulture Man.

“When is enough going to be enough? How many more of us need to die so that you can keep making a living?” said Pig Man.

“We didn’t ask for our heads to be chopped off. We didn’t sign up for war. We wanted to play music. How the hell can I bang the drums with no arms and no legs?!” shouted G-Pac.

Tears rolled down Daniel’s eyes and added to the fiery sting he felt from the quickly blinking lights. He couldn’t even hear himself say, “I’m sorry, guys. I wish I could take it back.”

“Wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which one fills up first!” blared a familiar Arab accent. The image of Tarantula Man with a mangled body and limbs hanging in odd places danced into view. “You promised us paradise. You promised us heavy metal. Well, the only heavy metal I ever got was the blade of a machete! That shit hurts like hell! But it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as knowing my band mates will never see their guitarist again.”

“What about MY band mates, Daniel?” said Bear Man as he crawled into view with the lower half of his body missing and the rest of his body bloodied to a pulp. “Did you think I was going to forget about the boys and girls of Juice? Did you think Tarantula Man was going to forget about I Am Death? Just because you took our names and gave us these disgusting aliases, doesn’t mean we’re your permanent bitches!”

“Lady Killer?! What kind of a goddamn name is Lady Killer?!” The aforementioned drummer of Juice crawled across the floor leaving a pool of blood in her wake. “Face it, Daniel: this is all your fault. Every one of us is dead because of you! What did Roger Zee say about hastening the inevitable? Did it have to start with us?!”

The members of Daniel’s various bands all shouted together in a cacophony of swear words and vitriol that rivaled the heavy metal music playing in his torture cell. The tears became hotter and more plentiful. The rage inside him exploded like a gasoline fire. He could feel his limbs growing stronger and his teeth grinding away. In a voice he could finally hear, Daniel screamed, “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”

“Why should they, Daniel? Are they saying things that you don’t want to hear? But isn’t that the purpose of heavy metal music: to bring the truth to light?” asked Johnny Vega, who had gushes of blood pouring out of him like a river of violence.

Sonia Marquez, who had no arms or legs, scooted over to Daniel with a wicked glare on her face. She rasped, “If I had my limbs right now, I would suplex your ass until the end of time. And to think, I actually had a crush on you. I would have been a hell of a lot better of a lay than that Raven chick you were running around with! What has she ever done for you anyways?!”

“Don’t you ever talk about her like that again!” Daniel roared, his fiery voice blowing away the spiritual essences of his former friends. He kept breathing fire and poison until all that remained of his traumatic insanity was the loveliest thing he had ever seen: Raven Triscloud in a purple Celtic dress. Daniel’s tears felt chilly on his cheeks as they soothed his burning pain. They were even more freezing when Raven blew him a whirlwind kiss.

“Find me, Daniel. Help me. You’re my only hope. You are our only hope. You must stop Roger Zee before he destroys everything we love,” said Raven in a beautiful high-pitched voice.

“I’m sorry, Raven…I tried so hard…I tried…” sobbed Daniel.

“It’s not over yet, Daniel. Not by a long shot. Find me, my love…find me…find me…” said Raven in a voice that got progressively softer until her spiritual essence was blown away by a tornado of obnoxious sound.

Daniel screamed for her to come back, but she never did. All that remained was a bright white light and the shadowy visage of a familiar middle-aged man. The raging heavy metal music was gone, the strobe lights were dim, but Daniel was so far down the rabbit hole that all he did was shake, grunt, sob, and bleed. He could barely hear the shadow figure call his name. There was no way this could be Raven or any of his friends. This man had a bald head. And pointy ears. And green skin.

Daniel, with now free hands, wrapped his fingers around the shadow man’s throat until he could feel the wind being sucked out of him. The grip became tighter than a hangman’s noose and more violent than barbed wire. Finally, the shadow man said, “Daniel, stop it! It’s me, Detective Shawn Henry! I’m here to help!”

The Lord of the Pit’s grip weakened until his arms were limper than spaghetti. That was all of the fight he could put up after being tortured for so long. His body felt like it had been crushed in a trash compactor. His skin felt raw and shredded like meat. His crotch felt wet and smelled like rancid fruit. His mouth, ears, nose, and eyes felt like he was drowning in a lake of blood and lava.

Despite the cataclysm of agony he was in, Daniel could comprehend what Shawn was saying as the detective held out a familiar shape. “I got your microphone out of the evidence locker and came here as fast as I could. Mr. Mercer, this isn’t a police station. This is a black site. We had it shut down for obvious reasons, but it seems Roger has brought it back to life.”

With a mouthful of biological sludge, Daniel struggled to say, “Where is she? Where’s Raven? I need her…”

“Don’t worry, Daniel, we’ll find her, whoever she is. But right now, the world needs you, buddy. I’m sorry for arresting you and bringing you to this awful place. My family’s lives were on the line. But given Roger Zee’s reckless ways, I doubt they’re even alive right now. Terrorists don’t keep their end of the bargain, which is why we’re not supposed to negotiate with them. I’d rather my wife and daughter be in a better place than spend another minute with that…that…” Tears formed in Shawn’s eyes as he wiped them away with his calloused fingertips.

Daniel spit out the venom brewing in his mouth and said, “The word you’re looking for is asshole, Detective! Roger Zee is an asshole! And if he lays one fucking finger on Raven, I’m going to kill him!” The burst of anger caused him to cough up more bile and blood.

“You have your microphone now, Daniel. You can do this! We can do this!” cheered Shawn.

The Lord of the Pit breathed heavily for a while and said, “Fuck heavy metal. Fuck it! I don’t need it anymore. I can’t listen to it now. If we’re going to kill this motherfucker…well, fuck, where are your goddamn tanks and drones and shit?!”

“Daniel, I know you’ve been through a lot, but if you give up on your music now, then…”

“Then what? I’ll actually have some peace for the first time in my life?”

Shawn’s expression became solemn as he grabbed Daniel by his back and legs and carried him baby style out of the black site. The Lord of the Pit, whose magical microphone sat in his lap, glared at the instrument of destruction with poisonous disdain and said, “I hate you, you stupid microphone. I fucking hate you!”

You Tube Videos

***YOU TUBE VIDEOS***

Whenever I’m in a creative funk or I just need to wind down, I’m usually surfing You Tube. My favorite channels are Wrestling with Wregret, What Culture, Wrestle Talk TV, College Humor, Buzz Feed, and Cracked. I also like watching random videos of You Tubers playing hacked versions of videogames, whether it’s a custom-made Mario game or an Open Beats of Rage version of Double Dragon or Final Fight. While I agree that binge watching You Tube videos is not the most productive thing I could be doing with my free time, the alternative would be channel surfing on my TV. I don’t have a gaming console of my own, so videogames are out of the question (unless I decided to use an emulator to play OpenBOR games or Nintendo and Super Nintendo games).

In all this time of watching You Tube videos, it made me wonder why I wasn’t making any of my own. I currently have one You Tube video in my uploads section and it’s twelve minutes of Smokey rolling around in catnip while I make a whole bunch of drug jokes. Surely there’s something better I could be doing with my digital camera. But the question is, what would that be? Could I use You Tube videos as another avenue of promotion for my books? Could I give my opinions on various subject matters? Could I shoot another twelve minute video of Smokey rolling around in catnip?

Even if I knew what to do with a You Tube account, I don’t have the fondest memories of the comments section on the videos I used to have uploaded back in the late 2000’s. My videos could be anything from drawing or photography features to songs that weren’t originally available for free play. Aside from my songs being taken down by WMG (Warner Music Group or Website Murdering Group, whichever one you prefer), I didn’t have the easiest time fending off trolls who wanted to criticize everything I did. I admit that I’ve gotten sensitive over the years with schizophrenia and autism weakening my mental defenses, but even so, not everyone can have the troll slaying skills of JK Rowling (if you haven’t seen her respond to Trump supporters, look it up on Buzz Feed; it’s fucking awesome).

The question now becomes, is it all worth it? Should I put myself out there to the You Tube public as a way of advertising my self-published books? I suppose I could do that, but all in all, it’s just another avenue of communication, no different from Deviant Art, Good Reads, Face Book, or Twitter. What’s the point of having another channel if my audience is going to be just as limited as it was before? That’s why I don’t submit stories to Inkitt.com anymore, because it was just another channel with nobody taking interest.

Another thing I would have to consider is being able to calm my nerves while making the videos so that I don’t stammer over my words or need multiple takes. I don’t know what it is about being in front of the camera that makes me nervous. I used to take acting classes in middle school, high school, and college, so I’m used to performing in front of a crowd. The only reason I was successful in those ventures was because I had a script to follow and I got lots of practice. You Tube videos and interviews are supposed to be spontaneous and free. If it sounds like I’m reading from a script, then my audience will know. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t like public speaking: because you’re not afforded the privilege of reading from or studying a script.

Given all of the cons I’ve listed for making You Tube videos, it makes me wonder why I’m even considering doing this. It’s because I see so many of my friends making them with a lot of confidence and it’s inspiring to me. I recently watched a video of former What Culture contributor Suzie Kennedy talking about what an awesome 2016 she had and she was the dictionary definitions of confidence and strength. I’ve also seen my beta reader Marie Krepps do a video promoting her Some By Day, Some By Night vampire series. She was very laid back and dare I say she has the cutest southern accent in the world. Aww!

The reason I can’t exude confidence like my friends can is because I don’t like the sound of my own voice or the way I look on camera. I don’t take selfies very often because every picture makes me look heavier than I really am and I don’t like to fake smiles even for photographs. I don’t record myself either because I sound like I’m whining nasally whenever I play it back. The more I talk about my onscreen presence, the happier I am that I chose to be an author. Introversion and privacy are valued in my line of work, so there’s nothing to be scared of.

If I ever do decide to make You Tube videos, it’s something I’m going to have to think long and hard about. I might even need to be convinced by someone else. You Tube seems to be the hottest way to get a public image out there, so that’s something else to consider. Then again, do I really have to read the comments section if I don’t want to? Is it possible to post videos and stay in the shadows at the same time? That would be fucking awesome if I could. If I ever did have fan mail to read or questions to answer, I’d have to screen each message first. Yes, I know I sound like a snowflake, but that’s not by choice; it’s called psychology, people.

The question of the day is, would you like to see me make You Tube videos on a regular basis and if so, what would you want me to talk about? We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Lord McCain is ready to rock and roll, which means it’s time for a heroic character to be on the chopping block. That heroic character is Tony Castle, the psychomancer from…well…”The Psychomancer”. He doesn’t solve Ashley Cormier’s problems for her; he just gives her the means and courage to solve them herself. I’ve tried to teach this lesson in a short story called “Deus Ex Machina” and it seems to have worked so far.


***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 13***

After a month of busying myself with other creative activities (as well as zombie walking), I finally posted the twelfth chapter of Demon Axe, where Roger Zee does what he does best and slashes the shit out of Daniel Mercer’s closest friends. Chapter thirteen won’t be any prettier as Roger takes Daniel to a dark room and tortures him with his own heavy metal music. The elf plays it at an annoyingly loud volume with flashing strobe lights for an extended period of time, hoping to make Daniel hate his own genre of music as a result of this torture. Guantanamo Bay prison guards used this torture method all the time with bands like Metallica, Demon Hunter, and Drowning Pool. Chapter thirteen will give you a terrifying glimpse into what it’s like to feel that kind of horrendous pain.


***LEGOS***

I still have two Lego sets that need to be built and photographed in some creative way. I have a Batman set that I got for Christmas and a WWE ring that I got for my 31st birthday. Maybe when I’m sitting around in the dark with nothing to do, I’ll get cracking on building those sets. Legos are a perfect alternative to channel surfing and You Tube browsing.


***POISON TONGUE TALES***

Marie Krepps has been working hard on critiquing my Poison Tongue Tales stories, so it’s only right that I keep my end of the bargain and actually make the changes she’s suggesting. Since I like to edit things three at a time, the next stories you’ll see updated in my Deviant Art gallery are “Bee Jay the Glutinous”, “Born to Die”, and “Cigaro”. I’ve got a lot of work to do to get them ready for publication, but I’ve never been afraid of hard work before, so it shouldn’t be an issue.


***WHAT HIDES IN THE DARKNESS***

Now that “Once Upon a Pastry”, “Titan Screwed”, and “Child of the Night Guild” are all in my rearview mirror, my next reading adventure will be done as a favor for Marie Krepps. She has a friend named KL Cottrell who is in need of some thoughtful reviews, but is shy about public life. I’m always happy to help out a friend in need. Miss Cottrell wrote a trifecta of paranormal fantasy books in the Light series and the first one is called “What Hides in the Darkness”. I hope it’s a good one! I know it will be, but I’m hoping anyways.


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I get by in a world with no conscience by shouting it out and being anonymous. And the problem is, you’re just like me.”

-Three Days Grace singing “Anonymous”-