Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 93
November 21, 2016
Die Purring
On a gray winter afternoon, nothing was more relaxing for Shayna Jorgenson than cozying up on the couch with her bare feet up on the ottoman and shopping for Christmas presents online with her laptop. This was much easier than going to a department store, especially since wearing pink fleece pajama pants and a white tank top was perfectly acceptable attire for internet shopping. No customers fighting among themselves for the best deals on shit they didn’t need, and no lengthy ass lines so that people would have to put up with each other for that much longer. The beauty of comfort brought a smile to Shayna’s face as she pulled the tie out of her soft chocolate hair.
Although, she had to admit that shopping for her boyfriend Edward Christian was a mystery wrapped in a riddle most of the time. They had been seeing each other for a whole year, yet Shayna didn’t have much of a grasp on what it was he truly liked. And then she saw his laptop sitting on the couch next to her and got a sneaky idea. She folded up her own laptop and logged onto his, which was easier than shopping for him since the computer wasn’t password protected. Perhaps she could get an idea of what he wanted for Christmas from poking around on his computer.
And then she had yet another naughty idea: sneaking around on his laptop to see his...pictures. Photography was one of Edward’s favorite hobbies and Shayna had to admit that he took some damn good pictures of her, maybe even professional grade (in case his gig at the library didn’t work out for him). And then she ventured into more dangerous territory: the porn collection.
Shayna rolled over onto her side as she surfed Edward’s porn collection with a kinky grin on her face. He definitely had some imaginative tastes. Wonder Woman in a lesbian make-out session with Princess Leia (in her golden bikini). Harley Quinn tying and gagging Lois Lane with duct tape. There was even a screenshot of Crazy K from Tales from the Hood in his black underwear being strapped to the spinning torture table, which made Shayna giggle and shake her head.
The next picture she saw erased the smile from her face and added tremor effects to her lips. She even held her stomach as she tried to keep her coffee down. There was nothing wrong with the fact that these women (and/or girls) were bare naked. It was what they were wearing on their crotches that made Shayna’s insides twist and pulsate with horror. She tried heavily breathing to calm herself down, but no matter what kind of whirlwind she sucked into her lungs, her blood continued to feel like a frigid tsunami running through her veins.
She peeked up momentarily to see her boyfriend standing in the living room with groceries in his hands and a confused expression on his face. Shayna never heard the door open, which was even creepier than what she saw on his computer. Edward asked, “Is there something you’re not telling me? What’s wrong, babe?”
Shayna closed the laptop and set it aside with shivers in her bare arms. “You know, Edward…I never had a problem with you keeping porn on your computer. But tell me…why did I just see a picture…of women wearing…diapers?!” That last word was punctuated with tears welling up in her eyes.
Edward dropped the bags of groceries at his sides and placed his hands on his hips. “Really?” he said. “You’re mad because I have a diaper fetish? So what? What’s the big deal?”
Shayna jumped up from the couch and shouted, “Children wear diapers! Old people wear diapers! You like that stuff?! You actually think that women in diapers are sexy?! What is wrong with you?!” Another wave of nausea hit her like a wrecking ball to the gut. “Oh my god…how old are those women? How old are they?!”
The blond haired, gray sweater vest wearing Edward approached his girlfriend with his arms spread out with the intention of hugging her. “Come on, baby, it’s not like that. You know me better than that.”
When he got a little too close for comfort, Shanya batted his arms away and shouted, “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me! You’re sick! You’re a sick goddamn pervert! I mean, why would anybody think that diapers are sexy?! Is that what you want me to do for you?! Huh?! You want me to dress up in a child’s diaper and pretend that I’m a big fucking baby?! Maybe you should be a Catholic priest or some shit like that!”
Edward ran his hands through his fuzzy hair and looked down at his brown dress shoes and gray slacks. Shayna plopped back down on the couch and bawled her eyes out. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now, Edward,” she said. “This is sick. This is absolutely sick.”
The boyfriend’s expression changed from crippling guilt to trembling anger as he marched over to the bookcase and pulled out a copy of “Fifty Shades of Grey” by EL James. “You see this? Look at me, damn it!” Edward shouted. “Anybody who reads crap like this has no right to judge other people for having weird fetishes! I have no illusions about diaper sex being normal. But at least I would never make you sign your life away in a fucking contract, which the main character in this disgusting book does to his girlfriend! You’re a hypocrite, Shayna! I’d rather be a crazy diaper fetishist that a flip-flopping bitch like you!”
Shayna shot right back up again and shouted, “There are no diapers in Fifty Shades of Grey! The main character specifically says that nothing he and his girlfriend will do involves children! And as I just told you, in case you didn’t fucking know, children wear diapers! I’m not going to satisfy your little NAMBLA fetish just for the sake of keeping our sex life fresh! If you want to have diaper sex so badly, run a daycare center!”
The girlfriend shuffled around looking for her shoes and socks while Edward shouted, “Yeah, that’s right! Judge me! Label me! It’s not like people don’t do that enough already! You think you’re the first one to give me shit because of my tastes?! Yes, I’m weird! I know that! And you know what?! I’m proud of that shit! Being normal is boring as hell! And if you want me to conform for you, you’re just as boring as any other faceless bastard walking the streets!”
Once Shayna got her shoes and socks on, she began to stomp her way out the front door. Before she could, Edward had one last cannonball to fire. “That’s right, walk away! Throw away an entire year of romance just because of one weird ass fetish! I’m not the freak around here! You are, bitch!”
Shayna glared at her boyfriend one more time and flipped him off before slamming the door behind her and walking away. Edward was proud of standing his ground, but even he couldn’t resist the urge to plop down on the ottoman and stroke his hair while tears were forming in his eyes. He had been in several arguments with Shayna before, but none of them have ended without resolution. All of those pedophile remarks could very well mean the end of their relationship. They were serious accusations, possibly serious enough to involve the police if things get heated.
That night, Edward Christian laid in bed with the blankets barely covering his blue shorts-wearing body. He hugged his pillow and stared at the ceiling, wondering if Shayna would ever come home to him. It was a stupid thing to fight over and a shitty way for one year of love to end. Christmas was coming up soon and if word got out that he had a diaper fetish, he would have nobody to celebrate this special holiday with. The more he thought about this, the longer he stayed up. He had stayed awake for two hours without getting one wink of sleep. When the sandman eventually came for him, he was going to sleep alone. Having that much bed space didn’t feel any more comfortable than sleeping on a park bench in the frigid weather.
“Hey, baby,” said a familiar voice in the doorway. It was the lovely Shayna Jorgenson, still dressed in PJ pants and a tank top. She also wore a look of sadness on her face, like she had spent most of the day crying as she cleared her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry about everything. At the end of the day, we all have our weird tastes, even me. You’re right. It would be a boring world if everyone was normal. But I also know that you would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I don’t want to be alone tonight. I know you don’t either.”
Edward spread his hand across the other side of the bed, signaling for his girlfriend to come lay beside him and end this silly feud once and for all. Shayna took off her tank top and revealed a white bra underneath. She breathed a deep sigh and looked down at her toes for a moment before pulling her pajama pants down and revealing a thick white diaper underneath.
Edward didn’t know whether to feel turned on and passionate or confused as hell. Shayna said, “I’m willing to try this just one time. If I don’t like it, then we won’t do it again. I feel absolutely ridiculous wearing this thing…but at the same time,” she smiled her sweet smile yet again and said, “It feels pretty soft against me.”
The boyfriend had a sexy grin on his own face as well. “I never actually had diaper sex before. I hope it’ll be as fun for you as it is for me. If it isn’t…I won’t make you sign a contract or any shit like that.”
Shayna giggled as she turned out the light and swayed her diapered hips back and forth on her way to beddy-bye with her handsome stud. One night was all they needed. One night of the strangest sex they’d ever had.
Although, she had to admit that shopping for her boyfriend Edward Christian was a mystery wrapped in a riddle most of the time. They had been seeing each other for a whole year, yet Shayna didn’t have much of a grasp on what it was he truly liked. And then she saw his laptop sitting on the couch next to her and got a sneaky idea. She folded up her own laptop and logged onto his, which was easier than shopping for him since the computer wasn’t password protected. Perhaps she could get an idea of what he wanted for Christmas from poking around on his computer.
And then she had yet another naughty idea: sneaking around on his laptop to see his...pictures. Photography was one of Edward’s favorite hobbies and Shayna had to admit that he took some damn good pictures of her, maybe even professional grade (in case his gig at the library didn’t work out for him). And then she ventured into more dangerous territory: the porn collection.
Shayna rolled over onto her side as she surfed Edward’s porn collection with a kinky grin on her face. He definitely had some imaginative tastes. Wonder Woman in a lesbian make-out session with Princess Leia (in her golden bikini). Harley Quinn tying and gagging Lois Lane with duct tape. There was even a screenshot of Crazy K from Tales from the Hood in his black underwear being strapped to the spinning torture table, which made Shayna giggle and shake her head.
The next picture she saw erased the smile from her face and added tremor effects to her lips. She even held her stomach as she tried to keep her coffee down. There was nothing wrong with the fact that these women (and/or girls) were bare naked. It was what they were wearing on their crotches that made Shayna’s insides twist and pulsate with horror. She tried heavily breathing to calm herself down, but no matter what kind of whirlwind she sucked into her lungs, her blood continued to feel like a frigid tsunami running through her veins.
She peeked up momentarily to see her boyfriend standing in the living room with groceries in his hands and a confused expression on his face. Shayna never heard the door open, which was even creepier than what she saw on his computer. Edward asked, “Is there something you’re not telling me? What’s wrong, babe?”
Shayna closed the laptop and set it aside with shivers in her bare arms. “You know, Edward…I never had a problem with you keeping porn on your computer. But tell me…why did I just see a picture…of women wearing…diapers?!” That last word was punctuated with tears welling up in her eyes.
Edward dropped the bags of groceries at his sides and placed his hands on his hips. “Really?” he said. “You’re mad because I have a diaper fetish? So what? What’s the big deal?”
Shayna jumped up from the couch and shouted, “Children wear diapers! Old people wear diapers! You like that stuff?! You actually think that women in diapers are sexy?! What is wrong with you?!” Another wave of nausea hit her like a wrecking ball to the gut. “Oh my god…how old are those women? How old are they?!”
The blond haired, gray sweater vest wearing Edward approached his girlfriend with his arms spread out with the intention of hugging her. “Come on, baby, it’s not like that. You know me better than that.”
When he got a little too close for comfort, Shanya batted his arms away and shouted, “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me! You’re sick! You’re a sick goddamn pervert! I mean, why would anybody think that diapers are sexy?! Is that what you want me to do for you?! Huh?! You want me to dress up in a child’s diaper and pretend that I’m a big fucking baby?! Maybe you should be a Catholic priest or some shit like that!”
Edward ran his hands through his fuzzy hair and looked down at his brown dress shoes and gray slacks. Shayna plopped back down on the couch and bawled her eyes out. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now, Edward,” she said. “This is sick. This is absolutely sick.”
The boyfriend’s expression changed from crippling guilt to trembling anger as he marched over to the bookcase and pulled out a copy of “Fifty Shades of Grey” by EL James. “You see this? Look at me, damn it!” Edward shouted. “Anybody who reads crap like this has no right to judge other people for having weird fetishes! I have no illusions about diaper sex being normal. But at least I would never make you sign your life away in a fucking contract, which the main character in this disgusting book does to his girlfriend! You’re a hypocrite, Shayna! I’d rather be a crazy diaper fetishist that a flip-flopping bitch like you!”
Shayna shot right back up again and shouted, “There are no diapers in Fifty Shades of Grey! The main character specifically says that nothing he and his girlfriend will do involves children! And as I just told you, in case you didn’t fucking know, children wear diapers! I’m not going to satisfy your little NAMBLA fetish just for the sake of keeping our sex life fresh! If you want to have diaper sex so badly, run a daycare center!”
The girlfriend shuffled around looking for her shoes and socks while Edward shouted, “Yeah, that’s right! Judge me! Label me! It’s not like people don’t do that enough already! You think you’re the first one to give me shit because of my tastes?! Yes, I’m weird! I know that! And you know what?! I’m proud of that shit! Being normal is boring as hell! And if you want me to conform for you, you’re just as boring as any other faceless bastard walking the streets!”
Once Shayna got her shoes and socks on, she began to stomp her way out the front door. Before she could, Edward had one last cannonball to fire. “That’s right, walk away! Throw away an entire year of romance just because of one weird ass fetish! I’m not the freak around here! You are, bitch!”
Shayna glared at her boyfriend one more time and flipped him off before slamming the door behind her and walking away. Edward was proud of standing his ground, but even he couldn’t resist the urge to plop down on the ottoman and stroke his hair while tears were forming in his eyes. He had been in several arguments with Shayna before, but none of them have ended without resolution. All of those pedophile remarks could very well mean the end of their relationship. They were serious accusations, possibly serious enough to involve the police if things get heated.
That night, Edward Christian laid in bed with the blankets barely covering his blue shorts-wearing body. He hugged his pillow and stared at the ceiling, wondering if Shayna would ever come home to him. It was a stupid thing to fight over and a shitty way for one year of love to end. Christmas was coming up soon and if word got out that he had a diaper fetish, he would have nobody to celebrate this special holiday with. The more he thought about this, the longer he stayed up. He had stayed awake for two hours without getting one wink of sleep. When the sandman eventually came for him, he was going to sleep alone. Having that much bed space didn’t feel any more comfortable than sleeping on a park bench in the frigid weather.
“Hey, baby,” said a familiar voice in the doorway. It was the lovely Shayna Jorgenson, still dressed in PJ pants and a tank top. She also wore a look of sadness on her face, like she had spent most of the day crying as she cleared her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry about everything. At the end of the day, we all have our weird tastes, even me. You’re right. It would be a boring world if everyone was normal. But I also know that you would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I don’t want to be alone tonight. I know you don’t either.”
Edward spread his hand across the other side of the bed, signaling for his girlfriend to come lay beside him and end this silly feud once and for all. Shayna took off her tank top and revealed a white bra underneath. She breathed a deep sigh and looked down at her toes for a moment before pulling her pajama pants down and revealing a thick white diaper underneath.
Edward didn’t know whether to feel turned on and passionate or confused as hell. Shayna said, “I’m willing to try this just one time. If I don’t like it, then we won’t do it again. I feel absolutely ridiculous wearing this thing…but at the same time,” she smiled her sweet smile yet again and said, “It feels pretty soft against me.”
The boyfriend had a sexy grin on his own face as well. “I never actually had diaper sex before. I hope it’ll be as fun for you as it is for me. If it isn’t…I won’t make you sign a contract or any shit like that.”
Shayna giggled as she turned out the light and swayed her diapered hips back and forth on her way to beddy-bye with her handsome stud. One night was all they needed. One night of the strangest sex they’d ever had.
November 16, 2016
Demon Axe, Chapter 7
Despite the pounding that the Demon Axe tour van took, it did an adequate job of getting Daniel and Raven from point A to point B. The breeze blowing through the shattered windows felt good against their wrapped up wounds. The feeling of having their hair blown backwards was relaxing to where Daniel almost fell asleep at the wheel.
He couldn’t complete drift into dreamland just yet because he knew where his ultimate destination was. The thought of returning to that outdoor arena formed a knot in his stomach the size of a medicine ball. His blood ran cold like a frigid river of anxiety and depression. His skin tingled like a thousand needles impaling him. He tried the old trick of breathing deeply, but not even a hurricane force breath was enough to calm his frosty nerves.
Raven could see the terror on Daniel’s face and ruffled his hair in a small attempt to bring him back down to earth. The affectionate gesture soothed him, but only minimally as the van was getting closer and closer to the outdoor arena. When a highway sign said that it was at the next exit, that was when Daniel slammed on the brakes and pulled over on the side of the road, his breathing intensified once more.
“I can’t do this. I can’t go back there, Raven. I’ll go fucking crazy,” said Daniel through a shaky voice.
“I know this is hard for you, but you need to trust me on this one. Within the holy grounds is a portal to the elven world. You’re going to see some things that you hoped you’d never see again, but I’m here for you. I wouldn’t bring you back here if I didn’t think it was important for you to see my king. He can help you. And you can help him. Whether you know it or not, the world needs your help, Daniel,” said Raven with a soothing tone.
Daniel shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and said, “What the fuck do I have to offer to the world? I can’t just sing my way through all of this. Music can only do so much. It was never meant to do much against a blade-swinging maniac!”
Raven placed her tender arm around Daniel’s shoulders and said, “You can do this. It’s either this or a lifetime full of pain and misery. I like your chances better when you actually put forth the effort to healing yourself. Or you can sit around in your home while bills pill up, debt collectors scream at you, and your house eventually gets taken away. You can either be traumatized at the arena, or you can be traumatized on the streets. I hate being this rough with you, but that’s the reality of it.”
After Raven removed her arm, Daniel stared out the shattered windshield with his eyes half closed and his mind numbed out. It would be another half minute before he started the van again and bolted down the highway towards the exit ramp. He felt like a human popsicle with the chilled feeling in his blood intensifying. But when he finally pulled into the parking lot, his facial expression changed from a vegetative zombie to a warrior ready to march into battle. He turned to Raven and sternly warned her, “You’d better be right about this portal. I’m not fucking around with you.”
Both passengers got out of the van and began walking around the arena with the chilly morning air blowing gently against them. All of this walking was the first real form of exercise that Daniel got ever since the incident took place. Being mobile and active actually felt good on his Novocain mind. It was common knowledge that exercise was essential to a healthy life, but feeling this sudden burst of endorphins relaxed Daniel a little bit. It also helped that Raven held his hand the entire time. They had just met and would probably never be a romantic couple in a million years, but this was a stark contrast to the “coward” labeling from back at the house.
Daniel and Raven were so busy getting their exercise in that the former failed to notice a small stump that tripped him without knocking him over. “Sorry, Vulture Man, didn’t see you there.” The Lord of the Pit realized the gravity of what he absentmindedly said. His eyes widened, his lips quivered, his body trembled, and his intestines felt like he got hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. He didn’t want to turn his head, but when he slowly did so, that was when the realization hit him like a thunderous right hand. The bureaucratic geniuses who scoped this place forgot one measly little detail: the heads and spinal columns of Daniel’s former band mates, which were covered in grass, though still visible to the naked eye.
“Daniel, please don’t cry. Please hold it together. It’ll be okay,” begged Raven with her hands together prayer-style.
After a few tears trickled down the Lord of the Pit’s shaking face, he let out a blood-curdling scream like he had just walked into a horror movie. The pathetic nature of his screaming fit caused Raven to slowly back away from him while holding her hands in a defensive, pseudo-calming gesture.
The traumatic rage sent Daniel running like a wild man into the woods where he began scraping at a nearby tree with his fingernails. He climbed up the sturdy oak like a wild animal, slipping and sliding a few times, but ultimately achieving his destination at the highest branch. He curled into a ball and rocked back and forth while muttering nonsense to himself and shedding an avalanche of tears. His head felt like he just got kicked by an angry horse with steel shoes. If he could, he would stay up in this safe place for the rest of his life. What good was he as a hero if he was constantly fleeing like this?
With more grace and athleticism than her male counterpart, Raven scaled the tree and took a seat next to Daniel while wrapping her arm around him and fluffing his hair yet again. “It’s okay, Daniel. It’s okay. You’re going to be just fine. I need you to trust me. I know of something that will help you put your mind at ease. I should have done this earlier, but I see that you need it now more than ever. You can even do this yourself if you’re ever feeling helpless.”
“Get lost, you crazy bitch! What can you possibly do to help me now?! Look at me, I’m a train wreck!” shouted Daniel. Raven placed one hand on each of his shoulders and tapped them rhythmically one at a time. “Wait a minute, what are you doing?” Daniel asked. The elf warrior continued this strange form of therapy while the Lord of the Pit’s tears started to dry up and his sitting position became more relaxed. He had no idea what his new friend was doing or why it was working, but as long as he found his temporary peace, he wouldn’t complain.
“Deep breath in…and out,” said Raven, to which Daniel complied. “If you had agreed to go to a trauma therapist, he would do this exact same thing for you, but with an electrical device or a light board. It’s called EMDR, or Eye Movement Distortion Reprocessing. I know this because I had to start doing it for my people when they experienced the trauma of having their homes invaded. While you don’t necessarily have to use your eyes to do it, it’s supposed to use both halves of your brain to deal with a traumatic memory, hence the patting of both sides of your shoulders. Psychologists swear by this treatment. And I can see it’s beginning to work for you.”
Raven continued to apply this therapeutic technique and Daniel’s breathing became deeper and more stable. She added positive messages to this unique treatment when she said, “The deaths of your band mates and the audience members are not your fault, Daniel. You didn’t swing the blade. You didn’t hold hateful beliefs in your heart. You didn’t spread terrorism of any kind. You were there to play music. The dark fantasy tropes of Demon Axe are more than just a gimmick. They’re a creative force that is just as important as the heavy metal music itself. Creativity is what will set you free in the end, not mindless conformity. You knew that when you formed Demon Axe and it’s still true to this day.”
The therapy had ended, but the recovery was just beginning for Daniel Mercer. As he looked down at his lap, he contemplated having to use this same technique in the future for the journey that lied ahead. Everything that Raven told him just then was true. Creativity killed conformity. Dark magic is not sinful. And goddamn it, the Lord of the Pit was far from finished.
He looked at Raven with dewy eyes and a renewed sense of purpose. “I’m ready. Let’s go,” he said. The two of them slowly descended the treetops and continued their walking exercise for the day. Daniel walked by the severed heads and spinal columns of his former friends and merely waved at them before saying, “I’m doing this for you guys. Your deaths will not be in vain.”
Raven patted her friend on the back and squeezed his shoulders as they trekked along the blood-bathed arena. She along with Daniel held the lives of everybody who came to the concert in their hands. They were determined to bring peace to this world and to the fallen ones if it meant using every last breath of fresh air and every last shred of strength to do it. And right at that moment, Daniel felt stronger than Greek titan.
He couldn’t complete drift into dreamland just yet because he knew where his ultimate destination was. The thought of returning to that outdoor arena formed a knot in his stomach the size of a medicine ball. His blood ran cold like a frigid river of anxiety and depression. His skin tingled like a thousand needles impaling him. He tried the old trick of breathing deeply, but not even a hurricane force breath was enough to calm his frosty nerves.
Raven could see the terror on Daniel’s face and ruffled his hair in a small attempt to bring him back down to earth. The affectionate gesture soothed him, but only minimally as the van was getting closer and closer to the outdoor arena. When a highway sign said that it was at the next exit, that was when Daniel slammed on the brakes and pulled over on the side of the road, his breathing intensified once more.
“I can’t do this. I can’t go back there, Raven. I’ll go fucking crazy,” said Daniel through a shaky voice.
“I know this is hard for you, but you need to trust me on this one. Within the holy grounds is a portal to the elven world. You’re going to see some things that you hoped you’d never see again, but I’m here for you. I wouldn’t bring you back here if I didn’t think it was important for you to see my king. He can help you. And you can help him. Whether you know it or not, the world needs your help, Daniel,” said Raven with a soothing tone.
Daniel shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and said, “What the fuck do I have to offer to the world? I can’t just sing my way through all of this. Music can only do so much. It was never meant to do much against a blade-swinging maniac!”
Raven placed her tender arm around Daniel’s shoulders and said, “You can do this. It’s either this or a lifetime full of pain and misery. I like your chances better when you actually put forth the effort to healing yourself. Or you can sit around in your home while bills pill up, debt collectors scream at you, and your house eventually gets taken away. You can either be traumatized at the arena, or you can be traumatized on the streets. I hate being this rough with you, but that’s the reality of it.”
After Raven removed her arm, Daniel stared out the shattered windshield with his eyes half closed and his mind numbed out. It would be another half minute before he started the van again and bolted down the highway towards the exit ramp. He felt like a human popsicle with the chilled feeling in his blood intensifying. But when he finally pulled into the parking lot, his facial expression changed from a vegetative zombie to a warrior ready to march into battle. He turned to Raven and sternly warned her, “You’d better be right about this portal. I’m not fucking around with you.”
Both passengers got out of the van and began walking around the arena with the chilly morning air blowing gently against them. All of this walking was the first real form of exercise that Daniel got ever since the incident took place. Being mobile and active actually felt good on his Novocain mind. It was common knowledge that exercise was essential to a healthy life, but feeling this sudden burst of endorphins relaxed Daniel a little bit. It also helped that Raven held his hand the entire time. They had just met and would probably never be a romantic couple in a million years, but this was a stark contrast to the “coward” labeling from back at the house.
Daniel and Raven were so busy getting their exercise in that the former failed to notice a small stump that tripped him without knocking him over. “Sorry, Vulture Man, didn’t see you there.” The Lord of the Pit realized the gravity of what he absentmindedly said. His eyes widened, his lips quivered, his body trembled, and his intestines felt like he got hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. He didn’t want to turn his head, but when he slowly did so, that was when the realization hit him like a thunderous right hand. The bureaucratic geniuses who scoped this place forgot one measly little detail: the heads and spinal columns of Daniel’s former band mates, which were covered in grass, though still visible to the naked eye.
“Daniel, please don’t cry. Please hold it together. It’ll be okay,” begged Raven with her hands together prayer-style.
After a few tears trickled down the Lord of the Pit’s shaking face, he let out a blood-curdling scream like he had just walked into a horror movie. The pathetic nature of his screaming fit caused Raven to slowly back away from him while holding her hands in a defensive, pseudo-calming gesture.
The traumatic rage sent Daniel running like a wild man into the woods where he began scraping at a nearby tree with his fingernails. He climbed up the sturdy oak like a wild animal, slipping and sliding a few times, but ultimately achieving his destination at the highest branch. He curled into a ball and rocked back and forth while muttering nonsense to himself and shedding an avalanche of tears. His head felt like he just got kicked by an angry horse with steel shoes. If he could, he would stay up in this safe place for the rest of his life. What good was he as a hero if he was constantly fleeing like this?
With more grace and athleticism than her male counterpart, Raven scaled the tree and took a seat next to Daniel while wrapping her arm around him and fluffing his hair yet again. “It’s okay, Daniel. It’s okay. You’re going to be just fine. I need you to trust me. I know of something that will help you put your mind at ease. I should have done this earlier, but I see that you need it now more than ever. You can even do this yourself if you’re ever feeling helpless.”
“Get lost, you crazy bitch! What can you possibly do to help me now?! Look at me, I’m a train wreck!” shouted Daniel. Raven placed one hand on each of his shoulders and tapped them rhythmically one at a time. “Wait a minute, what are you doing?” Daniel asked. The elf warrior continued this strange form of therapy while the Lord of the Pit’s tears started to dry up and his sitting position became more relaxed. He had no idea what his new friend was doing or why it was working, but as long as he found his temporary peace, he wouldn’t complain.
“Deep breath in…and out,” said Raven, to which Daniel complied. “If you had agreed to go to a trauma therapist, he would do this exact same thing for you, but with an electrical device or a light board. It’s called EMDR, or Eye Movement Distortion Reprocessing. I know this because I had to start doing it for my people when they experienced the trauma of having their homes invaded. While you don’t necessarily have to use your eyes to do it, it’s supposed to use both halves of your brain to deal with a traumatic memory, hence the patting of both sides of your shoulders. Psychologists swear by this treatment. And I can see it’s beginning to work for you.”
Raven continued to apply this therapeutic technique and Daniel’s breathing became deeper and more stable. She added positive messages to this unique treatment when she said, “The deaths of your band mates and the audience members are not your fault, Daniel. You didn’t swing the blade. You didn’t hold hateful beliefs in your heart. You didn’t spread terrorism of any kind. You were there to play music. The dark fantasy tropes of Demon Axe are more than just a gimmick. They’re a creative force that is just as important as the heavy metal music itself. Creativity is what will set you free in the end, not mindless conformity. You knew that when you formed Demon Axe and it’s still true to this day.”
The therapy had ended, but the recovery was just beginning for Daniel Mercer. As he looked down at his lap, he contemplated having to use this same technique in the future for the journey that lied ahead. Everything that Raven told him just then was true. Creativity killed conformity. Dark magic is not sinful. And goddamn it, the Lord of the Pit was far from finished.
He looked at Raven with dewy eyes and a renewed sense of purpose. “I’m ready. Let’s go,” he said. The two of them slowly descended the treetops and continued their walking exercise for the day. Daniel walked by the severed heads and spinal columns of his former friends and merely waved at them before saying, “I’m doing this for you guys. Your deaths will not be in vain.”
Raven patted her friend on the back and squeezed his shoulders as they trekked along the blood-bathed arena. She along with Daniel held the lives of everybody who came to the concert in their hands. They were determined to bring peace to this world and to the fallen ones if it meant using every last breath of fresh air and every last shred of strength to do it. And right at that moment, Daniel felt stronger than Greek titan.
November 13, 2016
We Steal Tears
VERSE 1
Death! Death! Double, double, death!
We’re addicted to this shit like crystal meth
Tears! Tears! Triple, triple, tears!
We’ve robbed you of all your childhood years
Quit! Quit! Quadruple quitting!
You want your tears back? Who’re you kidding?
Hack! Slash! Out with all the trash!
Your whole world reduced to a pile of ash
CHORUS
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Your final Armageddon is drawing near!
We steal everything that you hold dear!
But that ship has already sailed from its pier!
VERSE 2
Love! Love! You can’t get enough!
Breaking through the metal armor so tough
War! War! You’re begging for more!
Get your ass in battle and give me some gore
Experience points! Your currency of choice!
Let me hear some motherfucking noise
Lightning! Fire! Sorcerers for hire!
The final battle is getting down to the wire
CHORUS
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Your final Armageddon is drawing near!
We steal everything that you hold dear!
But that ship has already sailed from its pier!
BRIDGE
It’s nothing personal, it’s only business
This is what we do with creative vision
Sell you a story of friendship and family
And a hint of magic, it’s your final fantasy
VERSE 3
Buy it fast! Supplies won’t last!
Rain down on your enemies with a fiery blast
Save the girl! Save the world!
Enough lusty drama to make your toes curl
Ride the golden bird! Spread the word!
Fly the airship through a world so absurd
We’re not responsible for your broken heart!
Or the inability to get that shit to restart
CHORUS
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Your final Armageddon is drawing near!
We steal everything that you hold dear!
But that ship has already sailed from its pier!
Death! Death! Double, double, death!
We’re addicted to this shit like crystal meth
Tears! Tears! Triple, triple, tears!
We’ve robbed you of all your childhood years
Quit! Quit! Quadruple quitting!
You want your tears back? Who’re you kidding?
Hack! Slash! Out with all the trash!
Your whole world reduced to a pile of ash
CHORUS
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Your final Armageddon is drawing near!
We steal everything that you hold dear!
But that ship has already sailed from its pier!
VERSE 2
Love! Love! You can’t get enough!
Breaking through the metal armor so tough
War! War! You’re begging for more!
Get your ass in battle and give me some gore
Experience points! Your currency of choice!
Let me hear some motherfucking noise
Lightning! Fire! Sorcerers for hire!
The final battle is getting down to the wire
CHORUS
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Your final Armageddon is drawing near!
We steal everything that you hold dear!
But that ship has already sailed from its pier!
BRIDGE
It’s nothing personal, it’s only business
This is what we do with creative vision
Sell you a story of friendship and family
And a hint of magic, it’s your final fantasy
VERSE 3
Buy it fast! Supplies won’t last!
Rain down on your enemies with a fiery blast
Save the girl! Save the world!
Enough lusty drama to make your toes curl
Ride the golden bird! Spread the word!
Fly the airship through a world so absurd
We’re not responsible for your broken heart!
Or the inability to get that shit to restart
CHORUS
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!
We steal tears! We steal tears!
Your final Armageddon is drawing near!
We steal everything that you hold dear!
But that ship has already sailed from its pier!
November 12, 2016
Soccer Sucks
The summer sun shone down upon the gym students of Santa Consuela High School like an oven baking a pizza. As they played soccer on the school’s grass field, sweat rained down from their bodies to where their gym clothes looked like they had just gone swimming in a river. The kids and their teacher Miss Lopez were in tiptop athletic shape, so slowing down wasn’t a problem. For mildly overweight student Ben Troy, huffing, puffing, and sluggishly dragging himself across the field was as natural as the sweat pouring from his body.
Ben hated gym class so much that his muscles tightened at the though of it, only to ask himself, what muscles? He gritted his teeth together every time Miss Lopez told him to “pick it up”. No gym teacher could begin to fathom what it’s like to be overweight and constantly tired. Ben could sleep for days after a shitty soccer game like this. He was already in such a foul mood that he could blow off a firestorm of swear words at the smallest annoyance.
But instead all it took was a flying soccer ball to Ben’s ribcage. The impact stung him so badly that he dropped to his knees and screamed like a wounded lion. The other students, who paid more attention to the game than to Ben, accidentally knocked him down as they passed him by, leaving the big guy rolling around in the grass and crying in agony.
Rather than relishing in his agony, Ben nipped up and stopped the game with cacophonic vitriol. “That’s it! I fucking quit! I hate this goddamn game and I hate you stupid ass motherfuckers! Why don’t you look where the fuck you’re going next time, you goddamn faggots!”
Every student on the field had their wide eyes on him and one kid mocked him with an, “Ooo, I’m so scared!”
“Shut up, pencil dick!” shouted Ben before stomping off of the field and sitting on a metal bench with his spine and shoulders hunched over. He looked down at his black sneakers and gray athletic shorts and breathed deeply in anger. Contrary to popular belief, heavy breathing didn’t calm him down in the least. He still felt like punching the heads off of everybody on that field. Maybe he could grab them by the legs and split them in half like a banana. Those seemed like reasonable options to a pissed off kid with weight issues and a teacher who constantly told him to “pick it up”. In Ben’s mind, the only thing they would be picking up his pieces of skull off of the grassy field.
“We need to talk,” said Miss Kira Lopez.
Deep down inside, Ben always thought that his thirty-something gym teacher looked attractive with her brown skin, black ponytail, and red gym shorts. But he was in no mood to think with his penis. He wanted to strangle people. He wanted to head butt that kid who made fun of him. He wanted to rip out the spinal columns of everyone who had ever made fun of him for being bad at sports.
Miss Lopez sat down next to Ben and said, “You know you’re going to get detention for swearing at your fellow students. Sure, I don’t like being hit with a soccer ball either, but those were some pretty harsh things you said. I certainly don’t appreciate you using a homophobic slur against them. You know the one I’m talking about.”
“Faggot isn’t a gay slur. It’s a generic insult. Everybody knows that,” argued Ben, still with his crew cut-wearing head tucked against his chest.
“You can debate the semantics of an insult all day long, but that doesn’t change the fact that you just earned yourself detention. I want to see you here after school for thirty minutes. We’ve got a lot to talk about,” said Miss Lopez.
“How many minutes of detention are those morons getting for knocking my ass over and smacking me with the ball? Huh? Soccer is supposed to be a non-contact sport, which means nobody’s supposed to get hurt. If you really wanted to injure your students so badly, why don’t you teach some MMA or some shit like that? At least then, beating the shit out of students will be legal.”
Miss Lopez placed a gentle hand on Ben’s shoulder and caused him to glare at her with the viciousness of a wild wolf. She said, “Listen to me. First of all, that look your giving me doesn’t mean anything right now. You can get mad all you want, but you’re in a gym class and you have an assignment to do. Second of all, if we allowed you to beat up whoever you wanted, you’d completely miss the point of soccer. In addition to being a non-contact sport, which you alluded to earlier, soccer is a team sport. In order for a team to be successful, they have to learn how to get along. That’s what school is about: building communities. What kind of community are we going to have if you’re constantly screaming vulgar insults at your classmates and threatening to kill them?”
“If you don’t want me to do those things, then tell those kids to stop hitting me with the goddamn ball. It’s that simple. And if they do hit me with the goddamn ball, give them the same amount of detention that I have,” suggested Ben.
“You know full well that that was an accident. Sure, we should try our best to reduce the number of accidents in sports, but that doesn’t mean everybody’s going to suddenly be perfect. Whether you know it or not, those other kids are depending on you to be their rock. They need your help in achieving victory. If you’re going to deny that to them, then you’re not really part of a community at all, are you?”
Ben swatted Miss Lopez’s arm away and said, “What the fuck do they need me for? I’m just a big fat ass who’s slower than an old lady crossing the street.”
The gym teacher folded her arms and looked at her student incredulously before saying, “Is that what you really believe? Do you really think that using your weight issues as a crutch is going to bring you happiness? I know you’re unhappy with your body, which is another reason gym classes exist. I know you don’t believe this right now, but I actually want you to live a long and healthy life. I want good things for you, Ben. You’re not going to get those good things if you’re just sitting here on the bench while your teammates are losing. Come on, give them another chance. Please?”
Ben breathed heavily in and out as he contemplated this point while trying to sooth his fiery anger. He reluctantly stood back up with his fists clenched at his sides, ready to go at a moment’s notice. But then he looked down at his teacher with the same venomous glare and said, “The next motherfucker who knocks me down is getting the shit kicked out of him. I don’t care how much detention I get. I still think soccer sucks.”
The vengeful student tromped his way back on the field and engaged his classmates in even more athletic warfare. He struggled with his cardio and sucked as much air as he possibly could from this burning and humid weather. Getting the soccer ball away from his opponents while managing to stay on his feet this time was a struggle that only added to his huffing and puffing.
Deep inside he didn’t want any more trouble than he had already gotten himself into. Something about Miss Lopez’s words struck a chord with him, though he wouldn’t openly admit it. Maybe it was teenaged attraction, but this was an even worse time to think with his penis. He had a game to win and goddamn it, he was going to win come hell or high water.
After a long while of sucking in air like a cyclone, Ben finally managed to gain control of the soccer ball. The easy part was over. Now it was time to channel is rage into positivity. All of this fire burning in his belly and lungs was now being used as fuel for his newfound athleticism. He ran with the ball like a freight train bursting down the tracks. He didn’t care about his saggy belly or thunder thighs. He didn’t care about his lightheadedness or quickly beating heart and brain. He didn’t care that his insides felt like he swallowed molten steel. He had this ball and he wasn’t letting go.
After a slight bump of the shoulders with another student, Ben felt like kicking some heads. In one thunderous motion, he threw his biggest, most earth-shattering kick his heavy frame would allow. But instead of concussing another student, his raging energy was directed toward the soccer ball. It flew through the air like cannon volley and sailed past the goalie before touching the net. Prior to that goal kick, the score was ten-to-ten. With only seconds remaining, Ben Troy just scored the final kick and led his team to victory.
In the midst of all of this raspy breathing, Ben’s eyes grew wide with disbelief as his fellow teammates cheered their heads off. He was in an even bigger state of disbelief when they actually had the strength to hoist him on their shoulders in an act of celebration. A small grin formed on his pudgy face as he was lowered to the grass. He finally did it. He made a difference in a way that didn’t involve homophobic slurs or extreme violence. For that small moment, he found his happiness. And then the overweight student collapsed to the ground and blacked out.
“Somebody get some help! Call 9-1-1!” shouted Miss Lopez. That was the last thing Ben heard before taking his happy ass into dreamland, or wherever the dark side was.
Ben hated gym class so much that his muscles tightened at the though of it, only to ask himself, what muscles? He gritted his teeth together every time Miss Lopez told him to “pick it up”. No gym teacher could begin to fathom what it’s like to be overweight and constantly tired. Ben could sleep for days after a shitty soccer game like this. He was already in such a foul mood that he could blow off a firestorm of swear words at the smallest annoyance.
But instead all it took was a flying soccer ball to Ben’s ribcage. The impact stung him so badly that he dropped to his knees and screamed like a wounded lion. The other students, who paid more attention to the game than to Ben, accidentally knocked him down as they passed him by, leaving the big guy rolling around in the grass and crying in agony.
Rather than relishing in his agony, Ben nipped up and stopped the game with cacophonic vitriol. “That’s it! I fucking quit! I hate this goddamn game and I hate you stupid ass motherfuckers! Why don’t you look where the fuck you’re going next time, you goddamn faggots!”
Every student on the field had their wide eyes on him and one kid mocked him with an, “Ooo, I’m so scared!”
“Shut up, pencil dick!” shouted Ben before stomping off of the field and sitting on a metal bench with his spine and shoulders hunched over. He looked down at his black sneakers and gray athletic shorts and breathed deeply in anger. Contrary to popular belief, heavy breathing didn’t calm him down in the least. He still felt like punching the heads off of everybody on that field. Maybe he could grab them by the legs and split them in half like a banana. Those seemed like reasonable options to a pissed off kid with weight issues and a teacher who constantly told him to “pick it up”. In Ben’s mind, the only thing they would be picking up his pieces of skull off of the grassy field.
“We need to talk,” said Miss Kira Lopez.
Deep down inside, Ben always thought that his thirty-something gym teacher looked attractive with her brown skin, black ponytail, and red gym shorts. But he was in no mood to think with his penis. He wanted to strangle people. He wanted to head butt that kid who made fun of him. He wanted to rip out the spinal columns of everyone who had ever made fun of him for being bad at sports.
Miss Lopez sat down next to Ben and said, “You know you’re going to get detention for swearing at your fellow students. Sure, I don’t like being hit with a soccer ball either, but those were some pretty harsh things you said. I certainly don’t appreciate you using a homophobic slur against them. You know the one I’m talking about.”
“Faggot isn’t a gay slur. It’s a generic insult. Everybody knows that,” argued Ben, still with his crew cut-wearing head tucked against his chest.
“You can debate the semantics of an insult all day long, but that doesn’t change the fact that you just earned yourself detention. I want to see you here after school for thirty minutes. We’ve got a lot to talk about,” said Miss Lopez.
“How many minutes of detention are those morons getting for knocking my ass over and smacking me with the ball? Huh? Soccer is supposed to be a non-contact sport, which means nobody’s supposed to get hurt. If you really wanted to injure your students so badly, why don’t you teach some MMA or some shit like that? At least then, beating the shit out of students will be legal.”
Miss Lopez placed a gentle hand on Ben’s shoulder and caused him to glare at her with the viciousness of a wild wolf. She said, “Listen to me. First of all, that look your giving me doesn’t mean anything right now. You can get mad all you want, but you’re in a gym class and you have an assignment to do. Second of all, if we allowed you to beat up whoever you wanted, you’d completely miss the point of soccer. In addition to being a non-contact sport, which you alluded to earlier, soccer is a team sport. In order for a team to be successful, they have to learn how to get along. That’s what school is about: building communities. What kind of community are we going to have if you’re constantly screaming vulgar insults at your classmates and threatening to kill them?”
“If you don’t want me to do those things, then tell those kids to stop hitting me with the goddamn ball. It’s that simple. And if they do hit me with the goddamn ball, give them the same amount of detention that I have,” suggested Ben.
“You know full well that that was an accident. Sure, we should try our best to reduce the number of accidents in sports, but that doesn’t mean everybody’s going to suddenly be perfect. Whether you know it or not, those other kids are depending on you to be their rock. They need your help in achieving victory. If you’re going to deny that to them, then you’re not really part of a community at all, are you?”
Ben swatted Miss Lopez’s arm away and said, “What the fuck do they need me for? I’m just a big fat ass who’s slower than an old lady crossing the street.”
The gym teacher folded her arms and looked at her student incredulously before saying, “Is that what you really believe? Do you really think that using your weight issues as a crutch is going to bring you happiness? I know you’re unhappy with your body, which is another reason gym classes exist. I know you don’t believe this right now, but I actually want you to live a long and healthy life. I want good things for you, Ben. You’re not going to get those good things if you’re just sitting here on the bench while your teammates are losing. Come on, give them another chance. Please?”
Ben breathed heavily in and out as he contemplated this point while trying to sooth his fiery anger. He reluctantly stood back up with his fists clenched at his sides, ready to go at a moment’s notice. But then he looked down at his teacher with the same venomous glare and said, “The next motherfucker who knocks me down is getting the shit kicked out of him. I don’t care how much detention I get. I still think soccer sucks.”
The vengeful student tromped his way back on the field and engaged his classmates in even more athletic warfare. He struggled with his cardio and sucked as much air as he possibly could from this burning and humid weather. Getting the soccer ball away from his opponents while managing to stay on his feet this time was a struggle that only added to his huffing and puffing.
Deep inside he didn’t want any more trouble than he had already gotten himself into. Something about Miss Lopez’s words struck a chord with him, though he wouldn’t openly admit it. Maybe it was teenaged attraction, but this was an even worse time to think with his penis. He had a game to win and goddamn it, he was going to win come hell or high water.
After a long while of sucking in air like a cyclone, Ben finally managed to gain control of the soccer ball. The easy part was over. Now it was time to channel is rage into positivity. All of this fire burning in his belly and lungs was now being used as fuel for his newfound athleticism. He ran with the ball like a freight train bursting down the tracks. He didn’t care about his saggy belly or thunder thighs. He didn’t care about his lightheadedness or quickly beating heart and brain. He didn’t care that his insides felt like he swallowed molten steel. He had this ball and he wasn’t letting go.
After a slight bump of the shoulders with another student, Ben felt like kicking some heads. In one thunderous motion, he threw his biggest, most earth-shattering kick his heavy frame would allow. But instead of concussing another student, his raging energy was directed toward the soccer ball. It flew through the air like cannon volley and sailed past the goalie before touching the net. Prior to that goal kick, the score was ten-to-ten. With only seconds remaining, Ben Troy just scored the final kick and led his team to victory.
In the midst of all of this raspy breathing, Ben’s eyes grew wide with disbelief as his fellow teammates cheered their heads off. He was in an even bigger state of disbelief when they actually had the strength to hoist him on their shoulders in an act of celebration. A small grin formed on his pudgy face as he was lowered to the grass. He finally did it. He made a difference in a way that didn’t involve homophobic slurs or extreme violence. For that small moment, he found his happiness. And then the overweight student collapsed to the ground and blacked out.
“Somebody get some help! Call 9-1-1!” shouted Miss Lopez. That was the last thing Ben heard before taking his happy ass into dreamland, or wherever the dark side was.
November 10, 2016
Laziness
***LAZINESS***
I’ve beaten this dead horse so many times that it’s nothing more than shredded flesh and bone powder. I wouldn’t blame any of my readers if they suddenly got tired of hearing about it. But if I don’t write about the topic of laziness for the hundredth time, I feel like this will be a missed opportunity. There seems to be an updated version of this song and dance every time I write about it. So here it goes.
As of today, I don’t have a whole lot going on in my life. I haven’t lifted heavy furniture or done any strenuous chores around the house for weeks now. I still don’t have a high demand for book sales. I wanted to apply for a job with What Culture, but I didn’t think I could make the cut since I’m not as knowledgeable about pop culture as the admins. I’ve been on the job application sending circuit in the past and not one boss said yes to me. The WSS and my Deviant Art page have both been slowly declining in activity since old friends are falling off the face of the earth.
So I guess it stands to reason that I have all of this time in the world to work on my creative output and boost my self-employed career as an author. I can keep putting out chapters of novels, short stories, and heavy metal lyrics in hopes that one day, just one day someone will see them and help spread my message like a virus. That’s pretty much what being an indie author is all about: hoping that the right people will see you and want to invest their time and money in you. It’s like fishing in the sense that the right lure will catch the biggest and tastiest fish.
But here’s the thing. Yes, I do have lots of free time on my hands now that my schedule is clearing up quickly. However, most of my free time has been replaced with zombie walking. In other words, I pace around the house, lay in bed, or surf the internet hoping that my motivation will come back to me. The motivation has always been there, but every time it’s time to read, write, or edit, there’s this sensation in my brain that keeps me down. It’s a combination of sensitivity and numbness (for lack of a better description) and it robs me of the energy and willpower to get any creative work done.
I thought this problem was long behind me. I’m using my CPAP every night, I’m eating less and losing weight because of it, I haven’t had a schizophrenic attack in forever, and life is comfortable in this cozy town of Port Orchard. So where exactly is this mysterious brain sensation coming from? Self-doubt? Possible depression? Dare I say, the gray weather? The outside world’s influence? Aging?
That last item is important because when I was in my teens and 20’s, I used to get shit done on a regular basis. When I worked on a novel, I wrote a chapter a day with the longest paragraphs. When I had a college assignment, I worked relentlessly on it until it was done and turned in on time. When I had my volunteer jobs here and there, I worked my ass off and made my supervisors happier than the Pillsbury Doughboy being frisked by the TSA.
So what changed? How did I go from writing a chapter or short story per day to barely getting anything in at all? Am I really feeling like an old man at 31 years old? Is my obesity really that much of an influence? Keep in mind that in my teens and 20’s, I was skinnier and drank a lot of caffeinated energy drinks. I’ve since shot back up to 300 lbs. and I can’t drink Red Bulls anymore because they make my heart race. Maybe there’s also something about not having a routine schedule that makes me sluggish. Maybe I have to have work in order to do work.
I don’t claim to have all of the answers to my own dilemma, but I’d like at least some idea of what’s going on. I’ve read articles on procrastination and boredom and they’ve suggested that irregular sleep cycles, lack of exercise, and too much caffeine were among the reasons for that. Those seem like easy problems to rectify, but you have to remember that sleeping late, eating fast food, and drinking caffeine are all addictive behaviors. It’s just another way for my own brain to fuck with me. Thanks, brain.
Laying around and walking like a zombie might seem like paradise to someone with an overworked schedule. But make no mistake about it: there’s nothing glorious about feeling sluggish. There’s nothing normal about not being able to do what you love because of a technicality in your own fucked up mind. I repeat: a technicality, with many loose explanations, but no concrete answers. I see people brag about how hard they work and it hurts that I can’t put in as much firepower as them, all because…of a technicality in my goddamn brain. It’s a technicality that seldom existed in my younger years and little has changed now that I’m a 31-year-old.
If I could put out creative project after creative project 24/7 for the rest of my life, trust me, I would. I love writing. I love reading. I love editing. I even love my drawings and photography even though they’re not my main products. Common sense dictates that doing these things more often than I do would increase my happiness and fulfill my hardworking nature. So why am I not doing them? Because of a technicality, that’s why.
By this time in the blog entry, the dead horse is beyond necromancy. Not even Papa Shango’s silly magic from 1992 WWE television will be enough to animate this horse’s dead body. It used to be that every time I talk about this subject, the next day would result in a cornucopia of creativity. Maybe that’s what will happen tomorrow, maybe not. I don’t know anymore. It’d be nice to have some solid answers, but who do I look like, Dick Tracy?
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Go ahead, Miz, go do what you do best! Whatever it is, it sure as hell isn’t wrestling!”
-Daniel Bryan-
I’ve beaten this dead horse so many times that it’s nothing more than shredded flesh and bone powder. I wouldn’t blame any of my readers if they suddenly got tired of hearing about it. But if I don’t write about the topic of laziness for the hundredth time, I feel like this will be a missed opportunity. There seems to be an updated version of this song and dance every time I write about it. So here it goes.
As of today, I don’t have a whole lot going on in my life. I haven’t lifted heavy furniture or done any strenuous chores around the house for weeks now. I still don’t have a high demand for book sales. I wanted to apply for a job with What Culture, but I didn’t think I could make the cut since I’m not as knowledgeable about pop culture as the admins. I’ve been on the job application sending circuit in the past and not one boss said yes to me. The WSS and my Deviant Art page have both been slowly declining in activity since old friends are falling off the face of the earth.
So I guess it stands to reason that I have all of this time in the world to work on my creative output and boost my self-employed career as an author. I can keep putting out chapters of novels, short stories, and heavy metal lyrics in hopes that one day, just one day someone will see them and help spread my message like a virus. That’s pretty much what being an indie author is all about: hoping that the right people will see you and want to invest their time and money in you. It’s like fishing in the sense that the right lure will catch the biggest and tastiest fish.
But here’s the thing. Yes, I do have lots of free time on my hands now that my schedule is clearing up quickly. However, most of my free time has been replaced with zombie walking. In other words, I pace around the house, lay in bed, or surf the internet hoping that my motivation will come back to me. The motivation has always been there, but every time it’s time to read, write, or edit, there’s this sensation in my brain that keeps me down. It’s a combination of sensitivity and numbness (for lack of a better description) and it robs me of the energy and willpower to get any creative work done.
I thought this problem was long behind me. I’m using my CPAP every night, I’m eating less and losing weight because of it, I haven’t had a schizophrenic attack in forever, and life is comfortable in this cozy town of Port Orchard. So where exactly is this mysterious brain sensation coming from? Self-doubt? Possible depression? Dare I say, the gray weather? The outside world’s influence? Aging?
That last item is important because when I was in my teens and 20’s, I used to get shit done on a regular basis. When I worked on a novel, I wrote a chapter a day with the longest paragraphs. When I had a college assignment, I worked relentlessly on it until it was done and turned in on time. When I had my volunteer jobs here and there, I worked my ass off and made my supervisors happier than the Pillsbury Doughboy being frisked by the TSA.
So what changed? How did I go from writing a chapter or short story per day to barely getting anything in at all? Am I really feeling like an old man at 31 years old? Is my obesity really that much of an influence? Keep in mind that in my teens and 20’s, I was skinnier and drank a lot of caffeinated energy drinks. I’ve since shot back up to 300 lbs. and I can’t drink Red Bulls anymore because they make my heart race. Maybe there’s also something about not having a routine schedule that makes me sluggish. Maybe I have to have work in order to do work.
I don’t claim to have all of the answers to my own dilemma, but I’d like at least some idea of what’s going on. I’ve read articles on procrastination and boredom and they’ve suggested that irregular sleep cycles, lack of exercise, and too much caffeine were among the reasons for that. Those seem like easy problems to rectify, but you have to remember that sleeping late, eating fast food, and drinking caffeine are all addictive behaviors. It’s just another way for my own brain to fuck with me. Thanks, brain.
Laying around and walking like a zombie might seem like paradise to someone with an overworked schedule. But make no mistake about it: there’s nothing glorious about feeling sluggish. There’s nothing normal about not being able to do what you love because of a technicality in your own fucked up mind. I repeat: a technicality, with many loose explanations, but no concrete answers. I see people brag about how hard they work and it hurts that I can’t put in as much firepower as them, all because…of a technicality in my goddamn brain. It’s a technicality that seldom existed in my younger years and little has changed now that I’m a 31-year-old.
If I could put out creative project after creative project 24/7 for the rest of my life, trust me, I would. I love writing. I love reading. I love editing. I even love my drawings and photography even though they’re not my main products. Common sense dictates that doing these things more often than I do would increase my happiness and fulfill my hardworking nature. So why am I not doing them? Because of a technicality, that’s why.
By this time in the blog entry, the dead horse is beyond necromancy. Not even Papa Shango’s silly magic from 1992 WWE television will be enough to animate this horse’s dead body. It used to be that every time I talk about this subject, the next day would result in a cornucopia of creativity. Maybe that’s what will happen tomorrow, maybe not. I don’t know anymore. It’d be nice to have some solid answers, but who do I look like, Dick Tracy?
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Go ahead, Miz, go do what you do best! Whatever it is, it sure as hell isn’t wrestling!”
-Daniel Bryan-
November 9, 2016
Brandon Sanderson's Rules of Magic
***BRANDON SANDERSON’S RULES OF MAGIC***
You’re probably wondering why I’m posting a blog entry about Brandon Sanderson when I haven’t read a single one of his books (yet). Well, it all began when I started seeing the author’s name plastered across many Good Reads forums and status updates. I had to check out what all of the hubbub was about, so I looked him up on Wikipedia. Not only is he a fantasy author with many accolades and publications to his name, but he came up with three rules for magic powers when writing stories. These rules were designed to cut down on Deus Ex Machina situations and present something that was believable to even the most skeptical audiences. Adam Blampied, a contributor to the pop culture website What Culture, once complained that magic didn’t have any boundaries and therefore created too many unseen variables and impossible situations for the heroes. He has a valid point, one that I’d like to answer with Brandon Sanderson’s three rules for magic:
1. An author’s ability to solve conflict satisfactorily with magic is directly proportional to how well the reader understands said magic.
2. Limitations are greater than powers.
3. Expand what you already have before adding something new.
When it comes to my own writing, I may have broken these three rules at least a dozen times, maybe two or three dozen. I haven’t had any complaints from my readers about Deus Ex Machina endings, but that doesn’t mean my magical stories didn’t have the potential for them.
For example, some of you may have read a short story I wrote called “Dark Fantasy Rock Goddess”, where a singer-songwriter named Autumn Smith hires a sorcerer mercenary named Bloodshark to be her bodyguard during a performance in a rowdy orc bar. Bloodshark has the ability to throw lightning, ice, and fire spells willy-nilly with as little or as much power as he wants, no exceptions. I never established limits on Bloodshark’s powers nor did I specify what they were until the battle scene. He ended up slaughtering the entire audience of that orc bar with his magical abilities alone. Because Autumn has no magic powers of her own, she’s helpless against Bloodshark and succumbs to his might. The point of the story wasn’t the magic itself; it was the twist at the end where Bloodshark reveals himself to be an obsessive fan who doesn’t take no for an answer from any of his female clients. That twist could have very well been my saving grace when it comes to avoiding Deus Ex Machina.
While I have a good track record for writing believable endings, it doesn’t mean I’m undefeated. I recently wrote a short story called “Burning Dragon”, where a humanoid dragon mercenary (man, I’m obsessed with mercenaries!) named Brock Soulburn is hired to retrieve a magical demon mask called Night Terror that originally belonged to a tribe of barbaric orcs (I’m also obsessed with orcs!). The mask comes to life and terrorizes Brock in the same way Bugs Bunny would terrorize Elmer Fudd: with silly cartoonish antics, of course. Brock gives up on his mission, but teams up with Night Terror to rip off the orc tribe of its gold. In the final moments of the story, Brock wears Night Terror like a real mask and suddenly his fire-breathing powers are more devastating than before and also include the ability to steal souls of everybody who gets torched. Again, there was no mention of these abilities before, but Edward Davies, a stalwart participant in the WSS contests, told me that he believed the ending because the situation reminded him of the Jim Carrey movie from the 90’s called “The Mask”. I’d trust Edward with my life, so I don’t have much of a reason to doubt his judgment. But there’s still that lingering threat of my readers crying Deus Ex Machina if they took a gander at “Burning Dragon”.
As I said at the beginning of this entry, I’ve never read a Brandon Sanderson book before, so I don’t have the benefit of absorbing his writing style and subconsciously applying it to my own writing. But if someone with his accolades says that Deus Ex Machina endings will kill a good story, you’d better believe every word. These kinds of endings used to be popular in ancient Greek theatre, but in modern times, they get scoffed at and rightfully so.
And while you’re establishing limits and rules for your story’s magic system, it’s important to remember that writing is designed to be invisible. Instead of explicitly listing these rules and limitations (which would be telling), sneak them in there through believable dialogue and little opportunities to use said magic (which would be showing). I do want to apply Brandon Sanderson’s logic to my writing, but it’s something I have to work on since authors are supposed to be stealthy when putting pen to paper. I’d like to think I’ve come a long way in the show vs. tell department ever since working with Marie Krepps. But make no mistake about it: stealthy writing takes lots of practice and you still might not get it right the first time. All authors struggle with showing instead of telling. All of them. Not some of them. Every last one of them, including my sensei herself, Marie, who openly admitted it to me one day.
If you have helpful tips to give to me or other authors as to how to stealthily establish limits in magical powers, don’t be shy about posting them. In the words of Red Green, I’m pulling for you; we’re all in this together.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
This past Saturday, I saw a concert at the Tacoma Dome where Shinedown was the second to last act to play onstage that night. The prompt for this week’s WSS contest is “Shine Down”. This coincidence couldn’t have been timed any better. The only way that could be any more awesome is if next week’s contest had a “Five Finger Death Punch” prompt. But for this week, my entry will be called “Soccer Sucks” (another school-themed story). It goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
1. Ben Troy, Sour Gym Student
2. Kira Lopez, Gym Teacher
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The soccer game takes place outside, where the sun will “shine down” upon the students and add to Ben’s crankiness due to the extreme heat.
SYNOPSIS: The one part about high school Ben dreads the most is physical education, particularly when they’re playing sports. He hates soccer the most and his anger shows on the field when he is (accidentally) struck with the ball and knocked to the ground several times. Ben blows off steam at his classmates before taking a permanent seat on the bench. Miss Lopez tries to talk him into getting back in the game, but after a series of false answers, Ben simply says, “The next guy who knocks me down is getting his ass kicked!”
***JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: Where do Seattlites go to scratch the paint off of parked cars?
A: The Key Arena.
You’re probably wondering why I’m posting a blog entry about Brandon Sanderson when I haven’t read a single one of his books (yet). Well, it all began when I started seeing the author’s name plastered across many Good Reads forums and status updates. I had to check out what all of the hubbub was about, so I looked him up on Wikipedia. Not only is he a fantasy author with many accolades and publications to his name, but he came up with three rules for magic powers when writing stories. These rules were designed to cut down on Deus Ex Machina situations and present something that was believable to even the most skeptical audiences. Adam Blampied, a contributor to the pop culture website What Culture, once complained that magic didn’t have any boundaries and therefore created too many unseen variables and impossible situations for the heroes. He has a valid point, one that I’d like to answer with Brandon Sanderson’s three rules for magic:
1. An author’s ability to solve conflict satisfactorily with magic is directly proportional to how well the reader understands said magic.
2. Limitations are greater than powers.
3. Expand what you already have before adding something new.
When it comes to my own writing, I may have broken these three rules at least a dozen times, maybe two or three dozen. I haven’t had any complaints from my readers about Deus Ex Machina endings, but that doesn’t mean my magical stories didn’t have the potential for them.
For example, some of you may have read a short story I wrote called “Dark Fantasy Rock Goddess”, where a singer-songwriter named Autumn Smith hires a sorcerer mercenary named Bloodshark to be her bodyguard during a performance in a rowdy orc bar. Bloodshark has the ability to throw lightning, ice, and fire spells willy-nilly with as little or as much power as he wants, no exceptions. I never established limits on Bloodshark’s powers nor did I specify what they were until the battle scene. He ended up slaughtering the entire audience of that orc bar with his magical abilities alone. Because Autumn has no magic powers of her own, she’s helpless against Bloodshark and succumbs to his might. The point of the story wasn’t the magic itself; it was the twist at the end where Bloodshark reveals himself to be an obsessive fan who doesn’t take no for an answer from any of his female clients. That twist could have very well been my saving grace when it comes to avoiding Deus Ex Machina.
While I have a good track record for writing believable endings, it doesn’t mean I’m undefeated. I recently wrote a short story called “Burning Dragon”, where a humanoid dragon mercenary (man, I’m obsessed with mercenaries!) named Brock Soulburn is hired to retrieve a magical demon mask called Night Terror that originally belonged to a tribe of barbaric orcs (I’m also obsessed with orcs!). The mask comes to life and terrorizes Brock in the same way Bugs Bunny would terrorize Elmer Fudd: with silly cartoonish antics, of course. Brock gives up on his mission, but teams up with Night Terror to rip off the orc tribe of its gold. In the final moments of the story, Brock wears Night Terror like a real mask and suddenly his fire-breathing powers are more devastating than before and also include the ability to steal souls of everybody who gets torched. Again, there was no mention of these abilities before, but Edward Davies, a stalwart participant in the WSS contests, told me that he believed the ending because the situation reminded him of the Jim Carrey movie from the 90’s called “The Mask”. I’d trust Edward with my life, so I don’t have much of a reason to doubt his judgment. But there’s still that lingering threat of my readers crying Deus Ex Machina if they took a gander at “Burning Dragon”.
As I said at the beginning of this entry, I’ve never read a Brandon Sanderson book before, so I don’t have the benefit of absorbing his writing style and subconsciously applying it to my own writing. But if someone with his accolades says that Deus Ex Machina endings will kill a good story, you’d better believe every word. These kinds of endings used to be popular in ancient Greek theatre, but in modern times, they get scoffed at and rightfully so.
And while you’re establishing limits and rules for your story’s magic system, it’s important to remember that writing is designed to be invisible. Instead of explicitly listing these rules and limitations (which would be telling), sneak them in there through believable dialogue and little opportunities to use said magic (which would be showing). I do want to apply Brandon Sanderson’s logic to my writing, but it’s something I have to work on since authors are supposed to be stealthy when putting pen to paper. I’d like to think I’ve come a long way in the show vs. tell department ever since working with Marie Krepps. But make no mistake about it: stealthy writing takes lots of practice and you still might not get it right the first time. All authors struggle with showing instead of telling. All of them. Not some of them. Every last one of them, including my sensei herself, Marie, who openly admitted it to me one day.
If you have helpful tips to give to me or other authors as to how to stealthily establish limits in magical powers, don’t be shy about posting them. In the words of Red Green, I’m pulling for you; we’re all in this together.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
This past Saturday, I saw a concert at the Tacoma Dome where Shinedown was the second to last act to play onstage that night. The prompt for this week’s WSS contest is “Shine Down”. This coincidence couldn’t have been timed any better. The only way that could be any more awesome is if next week’s contest had a “Five Finger Death Punch” prompt. But for this week, my entry will be called “Soccer Sucks” (another school-themed story). It goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
1. Ben Troy, Sour Gym Student
2. Kira Lopez, Gym Teacher
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The soccer game takes place outside, where the sun will “shine down” upon the students and add to Ben’s crankiness due to the extreme heat.
SYNOPSIS: The one part about high school Ben dreads the most is physical education, particularly when they’re playing sports. He hates soccer the most and his anger shows on the field when he is (accidentally) struck with the ball and knocked to the ground several times. Ben blows off steam at his classmates before taking a permanent seat on the bench. Miss Lopez tries to talk him into getting back in the game, but after a series of false answers, Ben simply says, “The next guy who knocks me down is getting his ass kicked!”
***JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: Where do Seattlites go to scratch the paint off of parked cars?
A: The Key Arena.
November 8, 2016
Screw the Zoo
The leonine samurai Dijas Kai watched and waited high in a tree for the perfect time to strike. Even with his massive frame, the dense foliage provided a perfect camouflage for his green robe. His breathing was shallow and measured so as not to attract the attention of zoo patrons. He didn’t want to throw his blade around so recklessly, but these rifle-wielding zookeepers stationed at every cage might give him a reason to. The thought of having his own prison to live in brought a vicious glare to his face.
“Nobody deserves to be caged like this,” Dijas thought to himself as he scoped the zoo at the various “attractions”. Monkeys flipping around for the giggles of small children. Elephants lazing around on the concrete while being bombarded with peanuts. Giraffes trying to find space to stick their heads out of their undersized cages. The one attraction that made Dijas’s muscles tense was seeing baby lions moping in their enclosure with no mother to play with.
Seeing these imprisoned animals sent a hot rage through the samurai’s veins. He wanted to stain the ground with these insufferable humans’ blood. He wanted to snap necks, slash limbs, and smash faces, all with extreme prejudice and no absence of malice. It wasn’t his time to strike just yet.
Too many zookeepers with their tranquilizer darts ready to fire. Too many fat obnoxious patrons munching on cotton candy and drinking caffeinated sugar water while ignoring the cries of their bratty children. In Dijas’s mind, these people deserved each other. Then again, it was better to pull this operation off during the day than at night when the security intensified with robotic traps and even more powerful guns.
In addition to the lonely lion cubs that customers were blindly “awing” over, another enclosure grabbed Dijas’s attention: one that was covered with a surrounding curtain. Even with his distance high in the tree, he could make out the sign that said, “Sarah Tonin”. A cheap joke, no doubt, as if these animals needed more humiliation at the hands of careless owners.
When the zookeepers removed the curtain, however, Dijas’s blood boiled like molten lava. It wasn’t a family of monkeys. It wasn’t more miserable lions. It was a shackled human being. She sat on a tree stump with her head hung low and tears dropping from her eyes. Her face was painted like a skeleton clown and her only clothing was a black athletic bra and gray sweatpants. Her hair was done in the style of red pigtails, as if to add to the cuteness factor in the same way baby lions did by rolling around.
“Hey, monster! You want a peanut?!” shouted a little boy before chucking a handful at Sarah. She barely flinched when the salty snacks hit her. Her flinching intensified when cotton candy was being thrown at her. Her flinching turned to thrashing when she felt the coldness of an energy drink splashed against her smooth skin.
The patrons’ fits of laughter and mockery were hushed as they looked around for the source of a lion’s growl. Surely, the baby cubs couldn’t have made such a frantic noise. They were just children. Another growl sounded off across the zoo. And a much louder growl made the customers shiver in their giant shorts. Once noisy children were now whimpering against their mother’s thunder thighs. Ignorant fathers also huddled with their wives as the lion’s roar descended upon their fragile ears. Zookeepers’ rifles were locked and loaded as they looked around for the source.
The group of gunners huddled close together and formed a circle around their disgusting patrons. One shot from their rifles and their target would snooze and drool for hours on end. Dijas didn’t care; this was his time to strike! With his katana drawn and his roars deafening the crowd, he leaped down from the tree and sliced one of the zookeepers in two from asshole to appetite. Customers bundled together and shrieked in terror at the sight of organs and blood splashing all over the pavement.
The zookeepers aimed their rifles at Dijas and were ready to take him down if it wasn’t for the massive anthropomorphic lion grabbing a heavyset couple and using them as human shields with his blade firmly against their necks. “Go ahead! Fire! Shoot those tinker toys like you actually stand a fucking chance! You think I give a shit about these so called innocent lives?! Nobody here is innocent! You all are a bunch of disgusting shit weasels with too much self-esteem and not enough discipline! You’re teaching your children to be just as hateful as you! You people make me sick!”
“Take it easy, big guy. Nobody needs to get hurt,” said one of the eight remaining zookeepers as his arms shook the entire time.
“What do you mean nobody needs to get hurt?!” shouted Dijas. “I’m hurting now! These animals are hurting! And most of all, that poor girl you so cleverly named Sarah Tonin is hurting the worst! She’s a human fucking being, for god’s sake! And you decided to give her a cute little punch line for a name?!”
“It was my idea,” said Sarah in a medicated tone. Everybody’s attention turned away from the sword-slinging lunatic and towards the teary-faced “clown” with her neck and back painfully hunched over. “I deserve to be here. I’m not a human being. I’m an animal, just like the lions and monkeys. I don’t deserve to be loved. I’m just a freak of nature. Don’t take pity on me.”
Dijas’s heart sank like a brick tied around a drowning man’s ankle. Tears formed in his once fierce eyes, a frown sagged his rough features, and his blade’s grip around the obnoxious family’s throats loosened to where they could slide underneath and be free.
“Hey, assholes! Pay attention! Shoot him!” shouted one of the zookeepers. A popping noise sounded off and Dijas dropped to his knees, shedding the last of his waterfall tears before slumping over to the ground and weeping like the bored animal he was about to become. His whimpering became progressively softer until his animalistic drool mixed in with the pool of blood he left earlier.
“Holy shit, that was close!” said one of the zookeepers. Patrons silently backed away with tears in their own eyes as the riflemen gathered around Dijas’s prone body to try and lift the heavy beast. They kept debating among themselves who took the shot that knocked the samurai out. Nobody would admit to it. The debate turned into a cacophonic shouting match as the zookeepers held the lion by his arms and legs.
Their ear-piercing jibber-jabber was silenced by the sound of Dijas letting out a monstrous laugh. The zookeepers let go of him as the lion produced the shell of a tiny cherry bomb from his pocket in the palm of his paw. He rolled on his back, smiled evilly at them, and said, “All of these advances in science and technology and none of you idiots can figure out if you’ve fired your rifles or not. Great job, nimrods!”
The wily samurai drew his blade once again and flew around in a circle, slashing the throats of all eight zookeepers surrounding him. Patrons screamed and dispersed as blood shot up in the skies like Old Faithful. Some of the zookeepers even fell on their own rifles and shot themselves as their corpses went limp.
All that mattered to the blood-soaked Dijas was sitting in a cage with clown makeup on and tears smearing her paint job. The lion wiped a tear from his own eye with his paw and sauntered over to the cage before ripping the bars wide open and letting himself in. He placed a gentle paw on the slack shoulder of Sarah Tonin, who looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes and said, “Go away. I don’t deserve love.”
“Why not?” said Dijas in a sweet voice. “Is it because that’s what people have told you your whole life? Is it because you see no other way to live than by sulking in this cage? This zoo is not your home. Even the coldhearted streets would be better living conditions than this shit hole. This zoo has been home to countless health violations that the government chooses to do nothing about, because they’re too busy imprisoning minorities and apparently animals too. I know this because I too had my self-esteem ripped away by this cruel system. I didn’t belong anywhere simply because of who I am. Society wanted to lock me up for good. I had to fight for my freedom, just like you have to fight for yours. If you’re looking for love, look no further than me.”
Dijas gave Sarah a sweethearted smile and hugged her with all of his animal warmth. He even rubbed his mane against her face like a domestic kitty would. He also purred like a lawnmower in her ear, allowing a small grin to form on her face. Even with shackles on, Sarah managed to hug Dijas around the neck and cry softly into his fur. “Please get these chains off of me!” she begged, to which the lion smiled at her and with one powerful rip tore the shackles like paper.
Their moment of love was interrupted by the sounds of boots pounding the pavement and rifles clicking off in the distance. Sarah grabbed a wooden staff in the corner of her cage, smiled even wider at Dijas, and said, “Thank you so much for the love you’ve given me. I won’t forget you. But if we’re going down, we’ll meet our fates together.”
The two warriors hugged each other one last time before the one of the reinforcements shouted, “There they are! Shoot them!” The lion and the “freak” nodded together and drew their weapons with the intent of going down with a blaze of glory. In no uncertain terms, Sarah Tonin shouted, “Die, motherfuckers, die!” before shattering the bones of zookeepers left and right with her staff. Dijas roared like the mega beast he was as he slashed at anyone who moved (except for Sarah) with both his lion claws and his katana.
The two renegades didn’t know when death would take them or how violently it would happen. But as long as they were going to hell together, Dijas and Sarah would drag a few souls down with them. Blood, bones, and organs splattered across the floor of the wildlife park as more zookeepers rushed in on the scene to meet their splatterpunk deaths. For the first time in a long time, Dijas and Sarah were happier than pigs in shit. Hell, they were already rolling around in shit anyways in the form of zookeepers, so they might as well enjoy the ride.
“Nobody deserves to be caged like this,” Dijas thought to himself as he scoped the zoo at the various “attractions”. Monkeys flipping around for the giggles of small children. Elephants lazing around on the concrete while being bombarded with peanuts. Giraffes trying to find space to stick their heads out of their undersized cages. The one attraction that made Dijas’s muscles tense was seeing baby lions moping in their enclosure with no mother to play with.
Seeing these imprisoned animals sent a hot rage through the samurai’s veins. He wanted to stain the ground with these insufferable humans’ blood. He wanted to snap necks, slash limbs, and smash faces, all with extreme prejudice and no absence of malice. It wasn’t his time to strike just yet.
Too many zookeepers with their tranquilizer darts ready to fire. Too many fat obnoxious patrons munching on cotton candy and drinking caffeinated sugar water while ignoring the cries of their bratty children. In Dijas’s mind, these people deserved each other. Then again, it was better to pull this operation off during the day than at night when the security intensified with robotic traps and even more powerful guns.
In addition to the lonely lion cubs that customers were blindly “awing” over, another enclosure grabbed Dijas’s attention: one that was covered with a surrounding curtain. Even with his distance high in the tree, he could make out the sign that said, “Sarah Tonin”. A cheap joke, no doubt, as if these animals needed more humiliation at the hands of careless owners.
When the zookeepers removed the curtain, however, Dijas’s blood boiled like molten lava. It wasn’t a family of monkeys. It wasn’t more miserable lions. It was a shackled human being. She sat on a tree stump with her head hung low and tears dropping from her eyes. Her face was painted like a skeleton clown and her only clothing was a black athletic bra and gray sweatpants. Her hair was done in the style of red pigtails, as if to add to the cuteness factor in the same way baby lions did by rolling around.
“Hey, monster! You want a peanut?!” shouted a little boy before chucking a handful at Sarah. She barely flinched when the salty snacks hit her. Her flinching intensified when cotton candy was being thrown at her. Her flinching turned to thrashing when she felt the coldness of an energy drink splashed against her smooth skin.
The patrons’ fits of laughter and mockery were hushed as they looked around for the source of a lion’s growl. Surely, the baby cubs couldn’t have made such a frantic noise. They were just children. Another growl sounded off across the zoo. And a much louder growl made the customers shiver in their giant shorts. Once noisy children were now whimpering against their mother’s thunder thighs. Ignorant fathers also huddled with their wives as the lion’s roar descended upon their fragile ears. Zookeepers’ rifles were locked and loaded as they looked around for the source.
The group of gunners huddled close together and formed a circle around their disgusting patrons. One shot from their rifles and their target would snooze and drool for hours on end. Dijas didn’t care; this was his time to strike! With his katana drawn and his roars deafening the crowd, he leaped down from the tree and sliced one of the zookeepers in two from asshole to appetite. Customers bundled together and shrieked in terror at the sight of organs and blood splashing all over the pavement.
The zookeepers aimed their rifles at Dijas and were ready to take him down if it wasn’t for the massive anthropomorphic lion grabbing a heavyset couple and using them as human shields with his blade firmly against their necks. “Go ahead! Fire! Shoot those tinker toys like you actually stand a fucking chance! You think I give a shit about these so called innocent lives?! Nobody here is innocent! You all are a bunch of disgusting shit weasels with too much self-esteem and not enough discipline! You’re teaching your children to be just as hateful as you! You people make me sick!”
“Take it easy, big guy. Nobody needs to get hurt,” said one of the eight remaining zookeepers as his arms shook the entire time.
“What do you mean nobody needs to get hurt?!” shouted Dijas. “I’m hurting now! These animals are hurting! And most of all, that poor girl you so cleverly named Sarah Tonin is hurting the worst! She’s a human fucking being, for god’s sake! And you decided to give her a cute little punch line for a name?!”
“It was my idea,” said Sarah in a medicated tone. Everybody’s attention turned away from the sword-slinging lunatic and towards the teary-faced “clown” with her neck and back painfully hunched over. “I deserve to be here. I’m not a human being. I’m an animal, just like the lions and monkeys. I don’t deserve to be loved. I’m just a freak of nature. Don’t take pity on me.”
Dijas’s heart sank like a brick tied around a drowning man’s ankle. Tears formed in his once fierce eyes, a frown sagged his rough features, and his blade’s grip around the obnoxious family’s throats loosened to where they could slide underneath and be free.
“Hey, assholes! Pay attention! Shoot him!” shouted one of the zookeepers. A popping noise sounded off and Dijas dropped to his knees, shedding the last of his waterfall tears before slumping over to the ground and weeping like the bored animal he was about to become. His whimpering became progressively softer until his animalistic drool mixed in with the pool of blood he left earlier.
“Holy shit, that was close!” said one of the zookeepers. Patrons silently backed away with tears in their own eyes as the riflemen gathered around Dijas’s prone body to try and lift the heavy beast. They kept debating among themselves who took the shot that knocked the samurai out. Nobody would admit to it. The debate turned into a cacophonic shouting match as the zookeepers held the lion by his arms and legs.
Their ear-piercing jibber-jabber was silenced by the sound of Dijas letting out a monstrous laugh. The zookeepers let go of him as the lion produced the shell of a tiny cherry bomb from his pocket in the palm of his paw. He rolled on his back, smiled evilly at them, and said, “All of these advances in science and technology and none of you idiots can figure out if you’ve fired your rifles or not. Great job, nimrods!”
The wily samurai drew his blade once again and flew around in a circle, slashing the throats of all eight zookeepers surrounding him. Patrons screamed and dispersed as blood shot up in the skies like Old Faithful. Some of the zookeepers even fell on their own rifles and shot themselves as their corpses went limp.
All that mattered to the blood-soaked Dijas was sitting in a cage with clown makeup on and tears smearing her paint job. The lion wiped a tear from his own eye with his paw and sauntered over to the cage before ripping the bars wide open and letting himself in. He placed a gentle paw on the slack shoulder of Sarah Tonin, who looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes and said, “Go away. I don’t deserve love.”
“Why not?” said Dijas in a sweet voice. “Is it because that’s what people have told you your whole life? Is it because you see no other way to live than by sulking in this cage? This zoo is not your home. Even the coldhearted streets would be better living conditions than this shit hole. This zoo has been home to countless health violations that the government chooses to do nothing about, because they’re too busy imprisoning minorities and apparently animals too. I know this because I too had my self-esteem ripped away by this cruel system. I didn’t belong anywhere simply because of who I am. Society wanted to lock me up for good. I had to fight for my freedom, just like you have to fight for yours. If you’re looking for love, look no further than me.”
Dijas gave Sarah a sweethearted smile and hugged her with all of his animal warmth. He even rubbed his mane against her face like a domestic kitty would. He also purred like a lawnmower in her ear, allowing a small grin to form on her face. Even with shackles on, Sarah managed to hug Dijas around the neck and cry softly into his fur. “Please get these chains off of me!” she begged, to which the lion smiled at her and with one powerful rip tore the shackles like paper.
Their moment of love was interrupted by the sounds of boots pounding the pavement and rifles clicking off in the distance. Sarah grabbed a wooden staff in the corner of her cage, smiled even wider at Dijas, and said, “Thank you so much for the love you’ve given me. I won’t forget you. But if we’re going down, we’ll meet our fates together.”
The two warriors hugged each other one last time before the one of the reinforcements shouted, “There they are! Shoot them!” The lion and the “freak” nodded together and drew their weapons with the intent of going down with a blaze of glory. In no uncertain terms, Sarah Tonin shouted, “Die, motherfuckers, die!” before shattering the bones of zookeepers left and right with her staff. Dijas roared like the mega beast he was as he slashed at anyone who moved (except for Sarah) with both his lion claws and his katana.
The two renegades didn’t know when death would take them or how violently it would happen. But as long as they were going to hell together, Dijas and Sarah would drag a few souls down with them. Blood, bones, and organs splattered across the floor of the wildlife park as more zookeepers rushed in on the scene to meet their splatterpunk deaths. For the first time in a long time, Dijas and Sarah were happier than pigs in shit. Hell, they were already rolling around in shit anyways in the form of zookeepers, so they might as well enjoy the ride.
Lazy Day
VERSE 1
In this world of necromancy
Another rainy day is passing
Nothing to do but fall asleep
For wasted time I will weep
Laziness has taken over me
Blurry vision is all I can see
Novocain on my poor brain
Saturday goes down the drain
CHORUS
If hard work is everything
Show me the tools to bring
Give me the lyrics to sing
I’ll fly with my own wings
If boredom is the sickness
End it with some quickness
Lazy days drain life away
In this bed is where I lay
VERSE 2
In this world inside my head
Everything is buried and dead
Coffins make the best of beds
Ashes to ashes is what I said
Dust to dust, in fire we trust
Light the fuse, ignite the lust
Nothing wants to move today
Slightest twitch is too much pain
CHORUS
If hard work is everything
Show me the tools to bring
Give me the lyrics to sing
I’ll fly with my own wings
If boredom is the sickness
End it with some quickness
Lazy days drain life away
In this bed is where I lay
BRIDGE
Writing my life down on pages
Speaking in the tongues of sages
Rocking on the biggest stages
Lazing until the final ages
Recovery mode is not an excuse
But it’s the one I always choose
Heavy eyelids and a heavy heart
Continue to tear my art apart
VERSE 3
There’s always tomorrow to cure today’s sorrow
Because I know that time is always mine to borrow
Procrastination is a form of indoctrination
Convincing myself that this is my destination
So many of my allies depend on my actions
But all I can give them is less than a fraction
End the day by falling down on my face
Fuck necromancy and fuck this whole place!
CHORUS
If hard work is everything
Show me the tools to bring
Give me the lyrics to sing
I’ll fly with my own wings
If boredom is the sickness
End it with some quickness
Lazy days drain life away
In this bed is where I lay
In this world of necromancy
Another rainy day is passing
Nothing to do but fall asleep
For wasted time I will weep
Laziness has taken over me
Blurry vision is all I can see
Novocain on my poor brain
Saturday goes down the drain
CHORUS
If hard work is everything
Show me the tools to bring
Give me the lyrics to sing
I’ll fly with my own wings
If boredom is the sickness
End it with some quickness
Lazy days drain life away
In this bed is where I lay
VERSE 2
In this world inside my head
Everything is buried and dead
Coffins make the best of beds
Ashes to ashes is what I said
Dust to dust, in fire we trust
Light the fuse, ignite the lust
Nothing wants to move today
Slightest twitch is too much pain
CHORUS
If hard work is everything
Show me the tools to bring
Give me the lyrics to sing
I’ll fly with my own wings
If boredom is the sickness
End it with some quickness
Lazy days drain life away
In this bed is where I lay
BRIDGE
Writing my life down on pages
Speaking in the tongues of sages
Rocking on the biggest stages
Lazing until the final ages
Recovery mode is not an excuse
But it’s the one I always choose
Heavy eyelids and a heavy heart
Continue to tear my art apart
VERSE 3
There’s always tomorrow to cure today’s sorrow
Because I know that time is always mine to borrow
Procrastination is a form of indoctrination
Convincing myself that this is my destination
So many of my allies depend on my actions
But all I can give them is less than a fraction
End the day by falling down on my face
Fuck necromancy and fuck this whole place!
CHORUS
If hard work is everything
Show me the tools to bring
Give me the lyrics to sing
I’ll fly with my own wings
If boredom is the sickness
End it with some quickness
Lazy days drain life away
In this bed is where I lay
November 6, 2016
Spoilers
***SPOILERS***
Whenever I write a review online, I always make sure not to add spoilers. The most my readers will get out of me in that department is in the opening paragraph, where a give a brief synopsis of what the book or movie was about (in my own words). The three body paragraphs after that will highlight things I liked or disliked about the book or movie, depending on what grade I give it. The final paragraph is a sales pitch-style conclusion that brings it all home. I don’t know the exact year when I started using this formula regularly, but it was after I joined the WSS (they’ve definitely had an influence on my writing in many ways).
I’ve never liked spoilers whether I’m the one doing the reviewing or reading someone else’s opinion. It’s for the same reason that Christmas and birthdays are special to me: the element of surprise. If you know exactly what to expect ahead of time, what’s the point? Isn’t that why we watch movies and read books in the first place: to find out what happens? If we wanted to take in media at an analytical level, we could still do that and be surprised by what we see or read.
In fact, the element of surprise could determine whether a piece of art gets a good or bad grade. We all know that for the most part, the good guys will win in the end. It’s not a matter of if or when they win, it’s how. These insurmountable odds are so stacked against the heroes that we the audience couldn’t possibly guess how they’ll succeed. But when we find out at the story’s end, we’re pleasantly surprised and our curiosities are satisfied. To my way of thinking, a story’s ability to surprise me is paramount to a passing or extra credit grade. Sometimes the surprise means that the good guys lose and I’m okay with that as long as it paints a realistic picture in the process.
When I write a review, my goal is to get you, the audience, to buy whatever it is I’m selling. Even if the review is negative, you’ll still get curious about the things I’ve said about the product and will want to see them for yourself. I always try to maintain a positive attitude when I’m reviewing something, though. I’m not one of these critics who bash everything in sight while claiming to be a smart-ass or a funny guy.
When I watch a movie or read a book, I usually expect that it will be a fun or at least good experience, which is why most of my reviews amount to a passing grade. If I can relate to the story on a deeper level or if the story changed my life in any way, I will give it a full five stars, or an extra credit review. Mixed grades (three stars) will go to mediums that have noticeable problems, but are still likeable and redeemable. Failing grades (two stars) will go to mediums I absolutely hated. One star reviews are reserved for movies or books that I didn’t finish because they were so god awful, Fifty Shades Darker being a big example.
Even when I’m forced to negatively review a product, I try to be as fair and as sensitive as possible. It was a year ago where I gave a Paul McAvoy book two stars since he needed commercial attention. Instead of bashing the shit out of him and being a dick about it, I merely pointed out the flaws that needed fixing and tried to give him the encouragement to face the music someday. I haven’t spoken to Mr. McAvoy since that day, but I hope he’s not feeling too down about himself. I hope he corrects his mistakes and becomes a better author, one that can taste success at the drop of a hat.
It’s for this reason that I bear no ill will towards the two women that each gave me a two-star rating for Occupy Wrestling. They were just doing their jobs of being honest reviewers. They motivated me to reenlist the services of Marie Krepps and get Occupy Wrestling in top-top condition once again, this time focusing my efforts on showing instead of telling and making Mitch McLeod a respectable character. Andy Peloquin, the author of The Hunter series, once said that negative reviews are important because they hold authors accountable. I was held accountable by those two women and I hope I’ve improved since then.
But no matter who’s being reviewed or who’s doing the reviewing, you can bet your ass that we the audience want to be surprised by what we see. You’ll never see me post spoilers no matter how nicely you ask or how many times you nag me. The only people I gave spoilers to were my professors in college, because they were necessary to my essays and they’ve obviously already seen the movies or read the books, so they didn’t need a sales pitch.
If you’re an author in need of an honest review and you don’t want me to spoil your plot, you can contact me via Deviant Art, Good Reads, Face Book, or Blogger. I also have rvd77@hotmail.com as my main email address if you want to get in touch that way. I will tell you, though, that I currently have a lot of projects on my plate whether it’s reading, writing, or editing. If you want to enlist my services, it may be a slow process, but I’ll get it done. I may even try to meet your deadlines, but real life and mental recovery can get in the way of even the tightest time limits.
When it comes to my own self-published books, the same should be true: please don’t leave spoilers unless you’re planning to warn your readers ahead of time. Yes, I know I blast my novel chapters, short stories, and poetry all over social media on a regular basis, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want people to be surprised when they purchase one of my books. If anything, those social media blasts are just small bait to catch bigger fish. Immortal Technique, an independently-published hip-hop artist, knows all about catching the biggest fish. He may not be wealthy enough to qualify as a one-percenter, but people know who the hell he is and that’s what’s important.
These are the books I currently have on the market to be sold at Amazon, Smash Words, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and other book outlets:
• American Darkness (contemporary short story collection)
• Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage (dark poetry collection)
• Necrograph (another dark poetry collection)
• Occupy Wrestling (urban fantasy novella)
My next publication will eventually be a collection of sci-fi, fantasy, and horror short stories called Poison Tongue Tales. Getting it out there is a slow process, but it’s moving along nonetheless. In the end, it doesn’t matter how slow you go as long as you don’t stop. I saw that quote on my Soundscapes music channel and thought it fit perfectly with this topic.
Who’s ready to do some business? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
With Bradshaw and The Lord of the Pit in the books, it’s time for a new character and that will be Hall Markata, a skeleton necromancer from Occupy Wrestling. Hall was originally a playable character in a Final Fantasy videogame idea I had, but that idea was eventually scrapped due to piss-poor writing and not enough time to finish it in. He has since been resurrected as one of Keegan Day’s monstrous minions and provides a formidable challenge to the ultra-tough Mitch McLeod. You’re damn right Hall Markata deserves his own drawing.
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 7***
Daniel Mercer and Raven Triscloud return to the scene of Roger Zee’s first act of terrorism: the outdoor arena for what would be Demon Axe’s final concert. Daniel already has a shit-load of trauma fucking up his mind, so returning to his biggest trigger will quite possibly drive him insane. Raven tries to calm him down by explaining that within these “holy grounds”, there’s a portal that leads to the elven world, where King Arthur Triscloud will give Daniel the courage he needs to move on and even hopefully one day defeat Roger Zee in battle.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
The most recent contest, where the theme is “Prison Break”, started last Wednesday, but I couldn’t get started on my entry because of prior commitments, including the Five Finger Death Punch X Shinedown concert this past Saturday. The concert was fucking awesome, but just like with any one-day vacation, I need to spend some time in recovery mode. The WSS contest will continue for two more days and I’m hoping to get something posted tomorrow night before WWE Raw comes on TV. That story will be called “Screw the Zoo” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Dijas Kai, Lion Samurai
Sarah Tonin, Human Staff Fighter
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The zoo doubles as Sarah’s prison.
SYNOPSIS: Dijas visits the Dread City Zoo on a mission to free other lions from captivity. His heart drops when he sees that Sarah Tonin, a mentally ill “freak”, is one of the attractions in a cage. Dijas becomes angry when the patrons of the zoo start throwing peanuts and laughing at her. The lion samurai deviates from his mission and makes Sarah his priority. Once she’s freed, the two of them go on a slaughter rampage against the zoo customers. When the zookeepers break out their tranquilizer guns, the two warriors know it’s time to run.
***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
ME: You stupid fucking son of a bitch! Get moving, asshole!
SHELDON: What’s he yelling at?
JAMES, REINA, & SHARA (IN UNISON): His computer.
Whenever I write a review online, I always make sure not to add spoilers. The most my readers will get out of me in that department is in the opening paragraph, where a give a brief synopsis of what the book or movie was about (in my own words). The three body paragraphs after that will highlight things I liked or disliked about the book or movie, depending on what grade I give it. The final paragraph is a sales pitch-style conclusion that brings it all home. I don’t know the exact year when I started using this formula regularly, but it was after I joined the WSS (they’ve definitely had an influence on my writing in many ways).
I’ve never liked spoilers whether I’m the one doing the reviewing or reading someone else’s opinion. It’s for the same reason that Christmas and birthdays are special to me: the element of surprise. If you know exactly what to expect ahead of time, what’s the point? Isn’t that why we watch movies and read books in the first place: to find out what happens? If we wanted to take in media at an analytical level, we could still do that and be surprised by what we see or read.
In fact, the element of surprise could determine whether a piece of art gets a good or bad grade. We all know that for the most part, the good guys will win in the end. It’s not a matter of if or when they win, it’s how. These insurmountable odds are so stacked against the heroes that we the audience couldn’t possibly guess how they’ll succeed. But when we find out at the story’s end, we’re pleasantly surprised and our curiosities are satisfied. To my way of thinking, a story’s ability to surprise me is paramount to a passing or extra credit grade. Sometimes the surprise means that the good guys lose and I’m okay with that as long as it paints a realistic picture in the process.
When I write a review, my goal is to get you, the audience, to buy whatever it is I’m selling. Even if the review is negative, you’ll still get curious about the things I’ve said about the product and will want to see them for yourself. I always try to maintain a positive attitude when I’m reviewing something, though. I’m not one of these critics who bash everything in sight while claiming to be a smart-ass or a funny guy.
When I watch a movie or read a book, I usually expect that it will be a fun or at least good experience, which is why most of my reviews amount to a passing grade. If I can relate to the story on a deeper level or if the story changed my life in any way, I will give it a full five stars, or an extra credit review. Mixed grades (three stars) will go to mediums that have noticeable problems, but are still likeable and redeemable. Failing grades (two stars) will go to mediums I absolutely hated. One star reviews are reserved for movies or books that I didn’t finish because they were so god awful, Fifty Shades Darker being a big example.
Even when I’m forced to negatively review a product, I try to be as fair and as sensitive as possible. It was a year ago where I gave a Paul McAvoy book two stars since he needed commercial attention. Instead of bashing the shit out of him and being a dick about it, I merely pointed out the flaws that needed fixing and tried to give him the encouragement to face the music someday. I haven’t spoken to Mr. McAvoy since that day, but I hope he’s not feeling too down about himself. I hope he corrects his mistakes and becomes a better author, one that can taste success at the drop of a hat.
It’s for this reason that I bear no ill will towards the two women that each gave me a two-star rating for Occupy Wrestling. They were just doing their jobs of being honest reviewers. They motivated me to reenlist the services of Marie Krepps and get Occupy Wrestling in top-top condition once again, this time focusing my efforts on showing instead of telling and making Mitch McLeod a respectable character. Andy Peloquin, the author of The Hunter series, once said that negative reviews are important because they hold authors accountable. I was held accountable by those two women and I hope I’ve improved since then.
But no matter who’s being reviewed or who’s doing the reviewing, you can bet your ass that we the audience want to be surprised by what we see. You’ll never see me post spoilers no matter how nicely you ask or how many times you nag me. The only people I gave spoilers to were my professors in college, because they were necessary to my essays and they’ve obviously already seen the movies or read the books, so they didn’t need a sales pitch.
If you’re an author in need of an honest review and you don’t want me to spoil your plot, you can contact me via Deviant Art, Good Reads, Face Book, or Blogger. I also have rvd77@hotmail.com as my main email address if you want to get in touch that way. I will tell you, though, that I currently have a lot of projects on my plate whether it’s reading, writing, or editing. If you want to enlist my services, it may be a slow process, but I’ll get it done. I may even try to meet your deadlines, but real life and mental recovery can get in the way of even the tightest time limits.
When it comes to my own self-published books, the same should be true: please don’t leave spoilers unless you’re planning to warn your readers ahead of time. Yes, I know I blast my novel chapters, short stories, and poetry all over social media on a regular basis, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want people to be surprised when they purchase one of my books. If anything, those social media blasts are just small bait to catch bigger fish. Immortal Technique, an independently-published hip-hop artist, knows all about catching the biggest fish. He may not be wealthy enough to qualify as a one-percenter, but people know who the hell he is and that’s what’s important.
These are the books I currently have on the market to be sold at Amazon, Smash Words, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and other book outlets:
• American Darkness (contemporary short story collection)
• Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage (dark poetry collection)
• Necrograph (another dark poetry collection)
• Occupy Wrestling (urban fantasy novella)
My next publication will eventually be a collection of sci-fi, fantasy, and horror short stories called Poison Tongue Tales. Getting it out there is a slow process, but it’s moving along nonetheless. In the end, it doesn’t matter how slow you go as long as you don’t stop. I saw that quote on my Soundscapes music channel and thought it fit perfectly with this topic.
Who’s ready to do some business? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
With Bradshaw and The Lord of the Pit in the books, it’s time for a new character and that will be Hall Markata, a skeleton necromancer from Occupy Wrestling. Hall was originally a playable character in a Final Fantasy videogame idea I had, but that idea was eventually scrapped due to piss-poor writing and not enough time to finish it in. He has since been resurrected as one of Keegan Day’s monstrous minions and provides a formidable challenge to the ultra-tough Mitch McLeod. You’re damn right Hall Markata deserves his own drawing.
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 7***
Daniel Mercer and Raven Triscloud return to the scene of Roger Zee’s first act of terrorism: the outdoor arena for what would be Demon Axe’s final concert. Daniel already has a shit-load of trauma fucking up his mind, so returning to his biggest trigger will quite possibly drive him insane. Raven tries to calm him down by explaining that within these “holy grounds”, there’s a portal that leads to the elven world, where King Arthur Triscloud will give Daniel the courage he needs to move on and even hopefully one day defeat Roger Zee in battle.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
The most recent contest, where the theme is “Prison Break”, started last Wednesday, but I couldn’t get started on my entry because of prior commitments, including the Five Finger Death Punch X Shinedown concert this past Saturday. The concert was fucking awesome, but just like with any one-day vacation, I need to spend some time in recovery mode. The WSS contest will continue for two more days and I’m hoping to get something posted tomorrow night before WWE Raw comes on TV. That story will be called “Screw the Zoo” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Dijas Kai, Lion Samurai
Sarah Tonin, Human Staff Fighter
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The zoo doubles as Sarah’s prison.
SYNOPSIS: Dijas visits the Dread City Zoo on a mission to free other lions from captivity. His heart drops when he sees that Sarah Tonin, a mentally ill “freak”, is one of the attractions in a cage. Dijas becomes angry when the patrons of the zoo start throwing peanuts and laughing at her. The lion samurai deviates from his mission and makes Sarah his priority. Once she’s freed, the two of them go on a slaughter rampage against the zoo customers. When the zookeepers break out their tranquilizer guns, the two warriors know it’s time to run.
***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
ME: You stupid fucking son of a bitch! Get moving, asshole!
SHELDON: What’s he yelling at?
JAMES, REINA, & SHARA (IN UNISON): His computer.
November 4, 2016
Fishing For Sharks
VERSE 1
You spit cobra venom all over the page
You breathe fire on those who dare rage
You shoot bullets at those who attack
Only to find a jagged blade in your back
CHORUS
You threw the lure and fished for sharks
Whose bites are far worse than their barks
They smell the blood, it’s what they love
Your lifeless corpse floats to the surface above
VERSE 2
Are you running with giants or fishing for sharks?
Are you creating drama or a dramatic story arc?
Are you setting the world on fire or burning bridges?
Answer wrongly and you’ll sleep with the fishes
CHORUS
You threw the lure and fished for sharks
Whose bites are far worse than their barks
They smell the blood, it’s what they love
Your lifeless corpse floats to the surface above
VERSE 3
Negativity will never lead to life longevity
Your world will soon crash down inevitably
Don’t bring a knife to a gun-slinging fight
Don’t bring hatred to an already hard life
CHORUS
You threw the lure and fished for sharks
Whose bites are far worse than their barks
They smell the blood, it’s what they love
Your lifeless corpse floats to the surface above
FINAL VERSE
When you sling shit, you’re only soiling yourself
When you throw a fit, you’re damaging your health
Change or die, there’s nothing in between them
Grow up, move on, or get ready to be condemned
You lose one fight and it’s just like Armageddon
You lose one debate and it’s far from heaven
Get your ass up and dust off your fucking clothes
Be the very last person that this world clearly loathes
You spit cobra venom all over the page
You breathe fire on those who dare rage
You shoot bullets at those who attack
Only to find a jagged blade in your back
CHORUS
You threw the lure and fished for sharks
Whose bites are far worse than their barks
They smell the blood, it’s what they love
Your lifeless corpse floats to the surface above
VERSE 2
Are you running with giants or fishing for sharks?
Are you creating drama or a dramatic story arc?
Are you setting the world on fire or burning bridges?
Answer wrongly and you’ll sleep with the fishes
CHORUS
You threw the lure and fished for sharks
Whose bites are far worse than their barks
They smell the blood, it’s what they love
Your lifeless corpse floats to the surface above
VERSE 3
Negativity will never lead to life longevity
Your world will soon crash down inevitably
Don’t bring a knife to a gun-slinging fight
Don’t bring hatred to an already hard life
CHORUS
You threw the lure and fished for sharks
Whose bites are far worse than their barks
They smell the blood, it’s what they love
Your lifeless corpse floats to the surface above
FINAL VERSE
When you sling shit, you’re only soiling yourself
When you throw a fit, you’re damaging your health
Change or die, there’s nothing in between them
Grow up, move on, or get ready to be condemned
You lose one fight and it’s just like Armageddon
You lose one debate and it’s far from heaven
Get your ass up and dust off your fucking clothes
Be the very last person that this world clearly loathes
