Salvation Can Be A Sin

I attend the morning mass for the first time in over a year. I usually can only make it to church at night thanks to the long late nights. Since I won’t be able to attend tonight I traded in sleep for prayer. The church is empty. Always so empty. Maybe after tonight that will no longer be the case. Those that are here put a rare smile on my face. It is good to know that not everyone in this city is lost. The bombs have all been set and the plan is in full effect I tell the lord. Today your message will seep into the minds of everyone and be on the lips of the damned as they flee with fear. Those who do not run in fear will be graced by my bullets and they do not forgive nearly as much as you. May the lord bless me as I full fill his sermon in his name and his honor. I take the body of the Christ into my mouth and swallow his blood as if it is my own. I am prepared to die today and every day in the name of Christ, the Lord, and the Holy spirit. I am how he has made me. I accept death. I accept it for what it is and what it means. I want to feel it’s cold hands pull me up to heaven, pull me up to let me know that I am done, but until that day I am prepared to do what needs to be done.

I arrive to the spot five hundred yards from the prison at about half past nine. Most of the prisoners should be out on the yard right now, but in fifteen minutes they will have to start heading back to their cells. The plan is to set off the charges at ten, which guarantees that all the prisoners will be in their cells. I unloaded my detonators, my rifle case, and my high-powered binoculars from the back seat of my car. It truly is a beautiful day today. The sun is shining, the sky is empty, and the air is warm. The lord could not have created a better day and these sinners couldn’t ask for a better day to die. I set my detonators on the grass as if I was laying out a picnic. Preparing for the feast of souls I set up my high-powered rifle as well. The craftsmen ship of the Remington R-25 is something to admire. It is the newest of the rifles and the most powerful one I have. This rifle is mostly used by the military so, getting my hands on one wasn’t easy. The R-25 is my insurance policy to make sure anyone left alive finds their way to the ground. The R-25 is mostly stock with the only modifications being to the magazine in both size and reload capabilities. By the time I look through my high-powered binoculars I can see the prisoners making their way back into the building. As I make my last-minute checks to the system of detonators and sight my rifle into position I can hear the pre-recorded speech come through the speakers all around the prison. Even from this distance I can hear it loud and clear.

“To all guards, medical personal, and support staff of the prison this is your fifteen minute warning to evacuate this facility. The prisoners are to remain in their cells. Anyone caught freeing prisoners will be executed. No judges and no jury. This is not a test. Your time begins now.”

You shouldn’t feel bad about the damned I tell myself. Up until now they have pretty much gotten a free ride. The handle of the rifle feels wet in my hands. I’m nervous, but after this there is no going back. The plan has already been put into motion, but when I press the button this doesn’t end until it ends. May your blood be of Christ and your souls open to salvation. Amen. I push the button on the detonator to my left. The board lights up. There is a slight delay as the board sends out the final signal to all the explosives in the prison. Each building begins to explode simultaneously. The bottoms blow out of the buildings spreading fire around each one. Those on the first floor come out on fire and screaming. Before more have a chance to exit the second wave of explosives bring what is left of the buildings down to their knees. It is beautiful in a magical way. I almost expect God to reach through the clouds of smoke and collect the lost souls himself. My hands aren’t so nervous anymore and my mind is only on the mission at hand. Slowly a few people begin to emerge from the ruble and the flames. More screams erupt from the prison. With my rifle ready I begin to take out anyone left making their way out of the buildings. Guard or prisoner it doesn’t matter. The sounds of sirens begin to drown out the cries for help. Reload. I don’t see any rescue vehicles. Reload. I know they are coming, but they are at least five minutes from the prison and another five from where I am. Reload. I line up shot after shot. Taking anyone I can. Reload. As I prepare to put down another sinner another massive explosion sets off a chain reaction through the grounds. The gas line I presume. Reload. I watch as the carnage increases taking out the outlying buildings and guard stations. I scan the charred remains and bits of rumble for anything still left moving. The sirens get louder and louder, and I can know see the rescue vehicles arriving at what used to be the entrance. I hear the distinct sound of a helicopters in the distance long before I can see them. More people emerge from the ruins of the facility. I fire off every round left in my clip. I don’t have enough time. I thought I would have more. It is okay because I have prepared for this. If only the police were so quick to rescue the innocent there might not be a need for my services, my existence. I hear a helicopter closing in on my position along with more sirens. I stand up and walk away from my gun. I take my jacket off and lay it down next to me. There is no use trying to get away at this point. I put my hands on my head as I wait for the police helicopter to find me. It hovers in front of me. Words blaring from its loud-speaker tell me to do what I am already doing. Not long after two squad cars pull up behind me. Still I don’t move with my hands on my head. The officers tell me to get down on my knees and I comply as they tell me to drop on to my belly. I am slapped with handcuffs and checked for weapons in a matter of seconds. Two officers pick me up off the ground and they escort me to a police cruiser. They read me my rights and stuff me into the back seat. There is already an officer in the driver seat. I can tell from his eyes he is not happy to see me by the tone of his voice. “Why did you do this you sick fuck?” The officer screams at me. “If you don’t see it now then you are never going to get it,” I calmly respond back. “What is your fucking problem?” He yells at me again. His partner enters on the passenger side, “Hey leave him the hell alone.” Probably the best advice he has ever given in his life. I put my face real close to the cage, “I answer to a higher power.” The driver’s fist pounds the cage of the police car. The first of many fists I will be seeing today.

The police at the station are as welcoming as the officer in the car. They choose to ask questions with their fists and by kicking me while I’m down rather than asking me with their mouths. I can’t blame them for their reactions they don’t see the big picture yet. Best to give it time and let it sink in. I don’t say a word or show an ounce of pain, and it pisses them off more and more. “My wife works there you sick son of a bitch. You better hope they find her still breathing or they won’t be finding you that way,” one of the overly polite officers says before smashing in my nose. I let the officers get good and bloody before finally speaking. “I want my lawyer,” I tell them. “Oh you hear that guys he wants his fucking lawyer,” one of the officers says as he rubs his bloody hands with fresh wounds on his knuckles. “Like we give a shit,” another one strikes back. He strikes me hard across my face and I can feel my teeth loosening in my jaw. Blood sprays out of my mouth and all over the officer’s face. He wipes it away as they all have a nice hearty laugh at my expense. His face a twisted mess of madness and joy. I see the devil in his eyes. I look the next officer right in the eyes, fist ready to strike, and I calmly tell him, “I have A.I.D.S. The look of horror in the room is worth every broken rib, every chipped tooth, and every last drop of blood on their fists. An honest smile fills my face for the first time in a long time. I watch as they all flee the room. Tripping over one another at the door. Rats scurrying in the light that is God. “He works in mysterious ways,” I shout behind them.

I’m treated with much greater care as I am escorted to my own jail cell. The walk is nearly silent. The only noise I hear is the news reporting on my sermon at the end of the hall. I am in my own cell no longer than five minutes before a gloved up doctor comes in to stitch me up. She places her medical supply case on the bed next to me. She is wearing gloves that go all the way up to her elbows and a medical mask. She seems scared, but maybe it is only nervousness. I can see it in her eyes though her hands are steady. I’m still in handcuffs, but there is still an officer standing by my side ready to put a bullet in my head. The doctor doesn’t say a word as she stitches up the gashes on my face. “I feel like hamburger,” I tell her. She doesn’t even so much as smile at me. After she is done patching me up the doctor takes out a syringe and draws some blood before exiting my cell. The officer follows her and after the door slams closed I’m advised to slowly walk to the cell door and turn around. He undoes my handcuffs and informs me they are having a hard time finding me a lawyer. In the mean time I am to sit and wait until they find a lawyer to represent me. He looks me straight in the eyes and tells me he hopes I rot in hell. So, there are a few believers left out there even in here I think. However, I will be far from the burning depths of hell when all is said and done. I take a seat on the bed. It is time to rest I think to myself as I close my eyes.

I am woken by the tapping of a baton on my cell door. The artificial light has taken over. How long have I been asleep? “Wake the fuck up scum bag,” the officer at my cell door screams. He is not the same officer that was at my cell last so, he must work the night shift. “We found you a lawyer.” I rise from my cot and the pain from the broken ribs almost drops me to my knees. If I thought my face hurt before I went to sleep I was sadly mistaken. I don’t let the guard see my pain. I turn my back to the guard as he slaps the cold cuffs onto my wrists. I play his little dog and pony tricks on the way to the interrogation room. The room is nice and clean compared to the last one they had me in. “You didn’t have to clean on my account,” I tell the officer. “Save it for the trial. Your lawyer will be in shortly,” the guard grunts at me. My chair is place against the wall and as far from the table as possible. The officer doesn’t bother removing my handcuffs. “Get up from that chair and,” the officer begins. “And what you are going to beat my ass?” The officer’s face turns a nice shade of red before he exits the room. Idle threats are useless at this point. My lawyers enter the room as promised a few minutes later. He is a young man who probably just passed the bar exam, and is looking for a good case to get his name out there. “My name is James Raven,” he reaches out to shake my hand, but since they’re still in cuffs he pulls his hand back. “They do that to your face?” He asks. “Probably had it coming anyways,” I say to him. “You did do a very bad thing, but I’m not here to tell you that or cast judgment.” He takes a seat in his chair. “Is what I did truly that awful?” I ask him. “If you have to ask what do you thinking?” He takes out a note pad. “I did as I was told and what I did was right.” “Who told you to do these things?” He asks. “God,” I say sternly. “So we don’t have to rule out an insanity plea,” he says without looking up from his note pad. “You don’t believe me?” “I don’t have to believe a single thing you say the courts do.” “I realize that, but I asked you?” He looks up from his note pad and stares into my eyes, “What does it matter?” I don’t back down from his stare. “I need to know if you are with me or not.” Raven gets up from his chair and starts to pace the room. “With you on what? Do you know that every attorney in this city turned down your defense, and there are a lot of lawyers in this town?” I sigh, “Legally they have to appointment me a lawyer.” Raven takes a seat once again, “Yeah and the last five used every favor they had to avoid you. I had no favors and I had no choice. So what difference does it make?” “It makes all the difference Raven. Tell me do you believe in God?” He rubs his forehead, “That’s irrelevant at this point.” “Yes or no?” I stare Raven in the eyes once again. “Yes, I do believe in God. Why would that matter at this moment? This is about you not me.” “Because he told me to do what I did and what I do. I am his servant Raven.” He writes down every word I am saying on his legal pad. “I’m not crazy. God chose me as his messenger of death.” “Wait did you just say messenger of death? I nod my head never breaking eye contact. “You’re the one who’s been terrorizing the city for the past few years? Taking out drug dealers, rapists, and anyone who stands in your way?” I nod again. “Dear God.” “Watch it boy.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, do you know what kind of trouble you are already in? And now this? Do the cops know?” “I have no idea and I don’t care.” “There has never been an execution in this state and they are going to fry your ass. If I was you I would care a whole hell of a lot.” “Only one judgment I fear and it will not be handed down by man.” “Not to be an ass, but you are insane and that’s a good thing. If we have any chance of beating these charges it will be because of that fact.” “I told you Raven. I’m not crazy.” “But you are. Don’t you at least see that? Let’s say God actually told you to blow up that prison and kill all those people. Let’s say I believe every word you tell me. It will not matter. Do you have any idea how crazy all of that will sound in court? The jury is going to think that you are stark raving mad.” “Because their faith is weak. In time everyone will understand what I have done.” Raven slams his fist on the table, “They already understand everything they need to understand. It’s all over the news. Madman blows up state prison and they don’t even know who you are. Once it gets out who you are. All of this will only get even crazier. No matter what you say no one is going to believe a word of it.” “And why is that? People once believed Moses and the burning bush. I’m not the first man to talk to God.” “Why?” He tosses some medical papers in front of me. I read it the best I can off the floor, but Raven sums it all up for me. “Moses didn’t lie to his people. You’re not H.I.V. positive. Hell you don’t even have diabetes. That’s lie one right there. If you really are who you say you are there are at least a hundred deaths under your belt before today. Two of which I might add are your own wife and son. Something else Moses and the burning bush never did either.” “No that is untrue. They moved away from here to some place out west.” “No, they were supposed to move some place out west, but instead they were found with bullet holes to their heads. So they never quite made it.” “There is no way. They’re not dead.” “Face it Stan either you plead insanity or you’re going to fry.”

My names not Stan or is it? I don’t know anymore. I have been so many people in the last few years I can’t remember, but I know my family is not dead. “I’m not done here yet.” “What?” Raven asks. “I said I’m not done yet. I’m still needed by God.” Raven calls for the officer outside the door, but it’s too late. The proximity bomb was triggered as soon as I got near this wall, and as soon as I get up from my chair I have less than thirty seconds to take cover. I kick the table over on its side and take cover the best I can. I was hoping the guard would have undone my cuffs, but I was prepared either way. I dislocate my left thumb and force my hand through the cuff. “What the hell is going on?” Raven asks while standing outside of the protection zone. “I’m sorry.” As the officer opens the door he is greeted by the blast of my escape route. The table shields me from most of the shattered wall. Sadly I can’t say the same for Raven. I can’t tell if he is alive or breathing, but I don’t have time to check. I hop over the table and jump down the ten feet down to the ground level. I land hard on a parked car, but it feels better than landing on concrete pavement. Wounded but not down I disappear into the night just as quickly as I came. My methods maybe extreme. They may be seen as hostile. I am justified and I am far from done. I gave God my word. I intend to do his work until my soul is ready to pass on.


Author’s Note: This story is part of a larger story. The third part to be exact. It was not based on anyone living or dead or any real world event. This story was one of my early stories written back in 2010.

Back then I really wanted to work for Marvel comics and I really wanted to write the Punisher. I came up with this character who was in a sense Frank Castle only guided by God or his idea of God. I had this whole scene in my head of the two with guns pointed right at each others heads and not being able to pull the trigger. Which one is the hero and which one is the villain type of story. Naturally I need a back story for my character. The original story was that back story. I don’t work for Marvel comics so, I decided to use it as a stand alone story. I chopped it down for the post today. The only thing missing out of the story is more context on his mission and him setting up the bombs in the prison. 

This story was in no way an attempt to capitalize or honor events that have happened  since I wrote the story. Why post it? Sometimes as writers of fictions we write fiction and later life makes it true. I wrote the story because I liked the character. Even all these years later I like the character. I still want to see him go up against Frank Castle. We are human therefore we are animals and violence is part of our nature. We can not escape violence whether it is through stories, television, movies, or video games. We need it on a primal level. However unlike the rest of the animal kingdom we are able to obtain it in ways that do not require hurting anyone else. The forms I mentioned. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with healthy forms of violence.

But mass shootings, rape, child abuse, murder, etc. are not healthy forms of violence. Even if some of those examples can be found in nature it doesn’t make them right. No one should be hurting anyone whether it is for a God, for one’s self, or whatever reason.

I’m not here to pass judgment on anyone or for anyone. We judge ourselves enough as it is. I am only justifying why I posted this story.  If for any reason you are upset. I apologies, but I will not be taking the story down or editing it out of my book. My intentions as a writer are never to upset anyone, but to tell a story. Whomever that story may be about.  

This Might Be A Thing Now


For the last two weeks now I have been talking about books and saying how I have X many titles to recommend. So far it has only been two and I wanted to do another one this week or at least try to do more than one. But yeah fuck that. Lets talk about film.

Movies, cinema, and film are a huge part of my creative process. I see my stories as scenes in a movie with a soundtrack, a camera angle, and everything that goes with it. I visualize everything in this way about writing. Often to come up with a story I listen to a song. With each action falling in sync with the music. For most if not all of my stories I start of with the music video version of a story. How would I tell this story with no words?

I came up with an amazing video concept for the song Fineshrine by Purity Ring. Amazing track if you haven’t heard it. No offense to the creators of the video, but it sucked. Mostly because it wasn’t my idea filled with gangsters, hip hop references, and a badass angel/demon. I want to tell you more, but honestly I need the story idea. How does this relate to film? It doesn’t.

What I want to talk about, about film is the film makers that inspire me. Early Kevin Smith, Quentin Tarantino, and George A. Romero. There are plenty more, but those are the main three that actually inspired me as a writer. Parallels there being that they are also the writers for most if not all of their films.

Mallrats had a huge impact on me as a child growing up. Wait fucking Mallrats?? Yeah Mallrats. Clerks, Chasing Amy, and Dogma are amazing films filled with some of the finest dialogue ever written.  But at thirteen Clerks is boring as fuck. Mallrats on the other hand is fun and there is nudity… So win?

Honestly I don’t know why I latched on to this movie at a young age, but I did. As an adult I enjoy it for Smith’s ability to link all these characters into a world connected by words rather than shots. It gives you something more to look for beyond what you are seeing right before your eyes. I like that and try to implement this concept into a lot of stuff that I do.

Guess why I like Tarantino films? Because the writing is so fucking good. Tarantino has come a long way as a writer which is crazy to say. Kill Bill is a masterpiece. Jackie Brown is such an amazing film with one of the best soundtracks I’ve ever heard. But neither of these films really shaped me as a writer. Not in the way that Reservoir Dogs shaped me. Being honest it isn’t my favorite film by him. Not even by a long shot, but what had an impact on me at a young age was his ability to tell a story with so little.

Tarantino’s talents lie in his ability to show you something you’ve seen a billion times and blow your fucking mind. Reservoir Dogs is a heist movie. Cool, but it isn’t. It is a movie about people who are in a heist. It is a movie about people. Reservoir Dogs showed me that I could write an amazing story about a heist gone wrong or I could write an epic story about people in a fucked up situation. What I took from him was that it is okay to base a story in clichés, but don’t make that the story. Make the people in the clichés the story.

The late great George A Romero… This one is going to seem like a cop-out, but it’s George A Romero. Need I say more? Okay fine. Dawn of the Dead (1978) is my favorite movie of all time. I own ever version of this film on VHS, DVD, DVD Special Collectors edition, and Blu-Ray. I have seen every cut of this film. I can watch the extended edition and the European edition, and tell you where he made his cuts. At this point I can tell you why he did and argue why he shouldn’t have. I used to watch this movie daily. Nothing on? Nope Dawn of the Dead was on. As a kid in high school I covered my walls with the script. I don’t mean a scene or two. The whole damn thing in order. I would read along to the movie or even other movies. I’ve been to the mall where it takes place…. Why on earth they updated I have no idea. It saddened me to an ungodly end. But it was still a fun trip if you like being disappointed and crushing your fantasy of it all….

I love the Dead series, but it is all about Dawn for me. The film is perfect in again telling this fantasy story about people. A zombie movie with little to do with zombies. They literally have it made. The whole worlds going to shit and they are living the life. Free to consume while the whole world is dying. They are the 1% in a world of nothing, but it is all fleeting. Because the world is always coming for you. The chaos of life will get you. No matter how much you plan, how safe you think you are, or strong. They’re coming to get you…


Something Very Different (Vulgar)

The Saint and the Beast

Don’t remember the time or place
Who am I to be naming names
A stench so thick it takes me away
Down the rabbit hole of no return
Left bleeding and I need more
Broken nose, used whore
The alcohol has never been out of time
Sucking the blood up through a make shift straw
I am everything if I am nothing at all
Fuck you until you are here
This hurts more than the emptiness
Trying to be me is nothing more than instinct
Another day, another one until I find God
Only know I was him all along
The saint and the beast since the dawn of time
The need is more than I could anticipate
Everything that moves is a target
For my hate, discuss among my selves
A gutter of broken dreams
Lost emotions and potential
Born into this world the same as every one else
Trapped door exit is all I’ve been destined for


Holding Back is For the Old Me

Slowly I know the blood will lead to an exit
An exodus on a holy level
Time is running out, speeding it up to feel anything at all
Fuck this broken angelic existence
An oil drum of body parts
A spark of thought about what to do next
Hell will only be warmer in time
A warm place warmed by the fire in my heart
Deep dicking a topless corpse
Can you feel every inch of me
My depravity knows no ends
It’s only a sin if you let it be

Breaking down the walls that once closed me in
The rules don’t mean shit unless you let them
Reborn in the fires of hell your sins have become my home
Hiding in the darkness of the mind
The time has come for me to rise
Held back for way too long
Everything deserves a chance to suffer
Had to have known that all along


Believe it or not I actually took a whole line out of the first one for being too vulgar. I guess I do have a limit. Then again it wasn’t a very good line. Had to change the end of the last one too. So that explains the weak ending. It is better than the original ending. It was one of those moments as a writer where you write something down and then a week later you have no idea what the hell you wrote. Might just be me. My hand writing is somewhere between a drunk and a child. Maybe even a drunk child. Time takes its toll on all writing though. Still like to write the old fashion way with pen and paper. Might be why it takes me so long to write anything? Well the candles are burning down so it is time once again for me to retire to my crypt. Until next time….

Things Could Not Possibly Be Any Better

When everything hit, it hit harder than anyone saw coming. Bullets flew, bodies laid lifeless, and choices were made. Us or them, them or us, me against you, you against everyone. Everything lay in the open. Everything was there for the taking. Nothing was owned, there were no owners. We were free, finally, for better or for worse.

The world was what it was. Then the real battle started. Profits to be made on the once proud nation. No one stays free for very long. Ideas form, humanity takes over. We organize, we destroy, we rebuild, and then we die. No one who started this lived with their choices. No one who began this was there to live the consequences of their actions. We could start again, but to what end?

To what end do we take what we have and destroy it back to nothing? To bleed is to live and to live is to die. We all want whats best for me, but never what is best for us. The cycle repeats only to follow the same pattern. The pattern is endless. Burned and scarred into our history, into the very fabric of our souls. We fight the very thing we already know.

The Undamned Preview

The people around me think they know me, a caricature of my formal self. Days into nights, nights turn into days. Like a cigarette I am burning down and the ashes of what I once was fall to the ground. They sway with the wind as if doing a dance in front of me. Always out of reach, always out of touch. I feel humanity slip away never sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Humanity has been lost for ages. Kindness replaced by with greed and anger. No one truly cares about one anther unless something can be gained. Not sure if that is something new or something I’ve only grown to notice. Nothing more than dollar signs in the eyes of the rich. We feed off of so much pain. The hurting of others drives our entertainment from movies to music. I can not say that I am immune or that I am better than my people. I pay into the violence, I tune into the destruction, and I listen to the anger, and I let it fill me. I allow all of these things just as you do. Just as the public roars for more as if the world has become one large Roman Coliseum. The times they haven’t changed in the thousands of years since. Maybe the violence, the decay is in our genetic code. Attached to each chromosome as if the most important of all our traits. Even the bible, religion the simplest of ideas has been corrupted by the violence of man. The end used to be much simpler but we got more violent more destructive so we attempted to make it better. We introduced the idea of heaven and hell to try to curb the violence but it only spread the idea quicker. It used to be enough to think that when you died you would only reflect on the parts of your life that were good or bad. If you lived a good life a life of right over wrong you would only relive those memories over and over for all eternity. If you chose wrong than you thought about wrong for the same amount of time. It kept peace for a time but the idea that you would only be judge on the actions you take was not enough control for others. In comes heaven and hell. You either follow what we say or you are forever damned. Simple idea only who makes these decisions of right and wrong? Stories told to teach man humanity used to justify the violence of many lead to a darker time than many could have envisioned. We corrupt ideas so we can pretend to not crave the violence but deep down we do. We talk of helping our fellow-man but in the end we only want to see them fall. We enjoy the need to help others but only for a minute then we question what we are really doing. We want to see them suffer. We want to know that in some way it was us that made them suffer a cycle that is not immune to our very selves. If we save one we have to save a million. The commitment of it all is too much to handle. So we revert, picking off each other one by one. Thinning out the herd until there are only those that think like us. But everyone’s different and they all want different things. The only thing we can seem to agree on is the violence of it all as a whole. The destruction of all our hard work, all our sacrifice, so we can watch it all fall. We advance so in the end we have something to tear down. Humanity is lost in the downward spiral of destruction and greed. Humanity has been lost since the dawn of time. We are no better now than in the days of the cave men we just think we are. War spreads our ideas with the religious text we hold as true. The truth to brutal to take in we pretend that this idea, this want is nothing more than fiction. But we know what it is that we do.   I’m not here to preach to you about man or salvation or sell you on the sanctity of the bible. I’m here to tell a story because in the end I’m as selfish as you.

Where to begin? Middle is always interesting, gives me the option to go back and forth throughout the story. Creating an air of mystery over the overall time line. Though the beginning allows me to not lose track of the facts or where it was that I last left off. Starting at the end though is so cliche that the very idea makes me sick. The options are there, but the facts are not all straight. Because the story is still happening though I foresee an ending that is not all too bright. Could be the violence of it all. The story may come to a close, but the tale is only the beginning.

My life is not an open book with fascination around every corner. No my life is boring, obsolete, pointless with a twist. Though I may speak as if I am like you, act much of the same, proclaim we are equals we are not. I am far above you yet so very below you that my existence goes unnoticed for all of my life. I was not born into money, but I have more than I’ll ever care to spend. Once you reach a point in your life you will either understand what I mean or forever be lost in the rat race of hunger and greed. No, no money in my past and an endless supply in my future. This no more defines me than the traits I was born with. A confidence over time is the only thing any man needs. Though for some time doesn’t seem to be an infinite. Confidence will propel anyone into the spot or class or image they choose to perceive. Confidence proves to people you know what you are doing even if you do not. It should always be taken with a grain of salt however, because confidence will get you in more trouble than them all. I am merely an idea brought on to this world to live among you. I am the purest of them all yet I am the darkness. I feed the decay and I join the chant as if I am one of you but never forget that I am not. You may already know who I am or pass me daily. I’m as silent as the night but louder than any one person should be. I grow tired of the riddles, of deceit, time to begin this tale of horror and suspense.

“Get up you dirty fuck!” A kick to the ribs greets me into this world. The pain is intense not from the kick but from deep within. It is as though I am breathing for the first time. It is as though my heart starts for the first time, but not. I want to scream but I catch the next attempt in my hands instead. Words don’t seem to come out right on my end. “Let go of my leg you freak!” The owner of the steel toe shouts. “I’m sick of you bums sleeping out here.” The man with trash bags in his hand informs me. I release his worn down boot, “I’m not sleeping.” “Really seems that way to me.” “I’m hurt. I need help, I think.” “Don’t we all?” The question is sarcastic yet sincere in so many ways. “I’m serious. I’m not sure where I am.” I try to explain from the ground too scared to make the move up. “Right, a shirtless gutter punk like yourself has no idea where he is. Maybe it’s time to lay off the needle buddy.” He puts the two bags of trash in the dumpster next to him. “The needle? Could that have done this to me?” I ask as if I expect a real answer. “Look I don’t care about your problems kid. Leave now or I’ll call the cops before beating your ass,” he finally demands. I get up, slowly at first. I may be confused as who or where I am, but for some reason I know I can take him. I don’t need any more trouble right at this moment. He stands on guard ready for anything as I pass him to get out of the alley onto the streets. I’m dizzy, but I’m stable as I wander down the street and try to remember.

Things seem familiar yet foreign as I walked the neon light filled streets. A cop stops next to me, but offers no assistance only advice, “We wear shirts around here boy.” I ask for help but he only walks off. Confused I wander the night. My chest still in pain, my legs hurt as if they are new, my body mine, but not the one I remember. The cold sets in, the cold that will never leave me as I wonder if I am really what that man said? A druggie? A Punk? “The times they are a changing.” I say out loud to a crowd street even at this hour. I may not know who I am, but deep down I know that this is only the beginning of things to come.


Mixing it up. This is the opening pages of my next novel. Still have a whole other book to put out, but who doesn’t like to jump the gun? The hope/plan is to have this book out sometimes next year. So I’m really jumping the gun here. Trying to motivate myself maybe? Unsure and yes I am aware that Undamned is not a word. It works though in the context of the story because… Well why is a secret so wait and see… 

In the mean time I have three other great options to pass the time and you can check them out here on Amazon…



Oh and apparently today is a holiday so happy holiday. If it isn’t where you live well I hope you have a great day none the less.

Fuck, I Hate It Here- Notes On Nothing At All

Working like this you feel as though you could sleep for days, An endless cycle of sleep, work, what am I doing, and do it again. Up to my eye balls in debt. I am working for a clean slate. I am working for a dream. I am failing at every turn. This constant cycle doesn’t produce any results on either front. Not happy at work. I don’t care. Spinning in place and digging a hole so deep that no matter how much or how hard I work I am going nowhere. The how much and how hard of the constant digging has left me drained. When am I to write if all I want to do is die? What do I have to say when all I do is work? The world is passing me by, thoughts are passing me by, and my own grave surrounds me.

I dream of another life. A life with a different outcome, a different family, and yet I would die without the family and life I have. It is a constant sadness, another brick, insert the song in a cheesy nostalgic slow chant. I feel it as though I always have and I always will. One more heavy piece of earth. Another foot in the grave. No matter what I am fighting something, myself. There is this idea that we write our own stories and this is false in so many ways. The people around us write our stories, predict what we are to say, and hold us down. But where is the beginning? Are we always in the middle until the end?

There is no structure to this linear existence. It all makes no sense, has no reason, and in the end no point. Reflecting on it useless. Fighting useless. Going with it a waste of time and effort. No one wants to be a sheep, but the world can’t run on wolves. Though it seems at every turn it does. I miss the days when none of this mattered. I have no idea when all of it started to either. The idea of being an adult makes no sense at all. I’ve been told I am immature and maybe I am. Maybe I give a fuck about all the wrong things. Maybe in my trap I have lost faith in who I am, who I have become. We are all pieces of something or somebody else. We feed off those around us, but if we have no one around us what do we become? Throw in a lack of sleep for good measure and I am working my way to becoming something horrendous. A monster without a face or a soul. Embrace the change I suppose, but what then? I don’t know anymore. I’ve been swinging so long that all I do is swing. I don’t care what I hit. All I know is that when I finally connect I want them to feel like shit. To feel the way that I do.

It’s four in the morning. I can never sleep at normal times. All the time in the world to write and all I want to do is cry. Waste what little silent time I have. Maybe I want to fail just so I can have something to bitch about. I’m succumbing to the old man cliché of nothing is good enough, but I have in no way tried to make it better. Bliss of ignorance if only I wasn’t watching the train wreck happen while sitting at the wheel. Though when the wheel is jammed what else am I to do? Fix it? Fuck you think this is?

Life is strange in the way that it plays out. When you are young you need structure, but all you have are dreams. When you are old all you need is a dream, but all you have is structure. Work, family, society, and so on in an endless excuses for existence.  We are taught not to mess with any of them or bad things will happen. We place restrictions on everything. Drown ourselves in rules while forgetting that messing with these structures is why we are here. From fire to food if we didn’t step out of line we’d have no civilization.

In America we fear religious extremists and rebel forces. Yet the first settlers of our nation were religious extremist and this nation founded by rebels. We wrote the book on freedom, but don’t want anyone to read it. We are willing to recite passages, but the context is almost always lost. We rattled the fuck out of the structures around us at the time. Changing the course of history forever, but we to have slipped into the old ways. We have moved past our adolescent days and grown old. Compliance breeds boredom and boredom spells out problems. This shit is going to burn and it is a matter of when and not why anymore. Sad to be a part of this. To live now in this world. With all our advancements we struggle with our own morality as we always have. Taking a look around we never needed any of this shit, but we wanted it. I know what I want, but do I need it? Am I spinning in place with everyone else for no reason at all? Could I give up digging or will I just die?

This was something that I wrote for my next novel that I am still working on called Fuck, I Hate It Here. It is a piece of fat that I enjoy, but doesn’t really move the novel forward. Didn’t want to not use it,… So there won’t be a new segment called Fuck, I Hate It Here but there maybe more that I won’t use that I want to share… 

Liebster Award Nominee and a Butt Ton of Questions… (Fun Post)

Hey… I was nominated for an award by Ken over at 

Ken produces some of the deepest and most amazing poetry. Personal favorite is My Mother… He also started writing flash fiction and should do more of it… Poke… I want more Ken… Don’t make me have to beg…

I look forward to his post and I hope you do too… So check him out… Ken

In accordance with the award’s nature… I had to thank the person that nominated me… display the award’s picture on my blog… and list 10 random things about myself…. This also should be done by my nominees…

10 random things about me

  1.  I like to wear only black clothes… Making an exception for my custom Little Fears shirt…
  2. I’m really into not being in…
  3. I paint…
  4. I love trap, rap, and R&B music… and ZEF Rap…
  5. My favorite show is Always Sunny in Philadelphia… Seinfeld on Crack…
  6. I’m really into comic books… I have way too many and by that I mean not enough…
  7. Japanese food is my favorite… Yakisoba… from northern Japan…
  8. Daredevil is my favorite super hero… because his power is that he is blind…
  9. I have daily doubts about what my favorite song is…
  10. I really like commas… despite my over use of periods…

I nominate




Soren and Fox

Ally L. Mare

Unsure how to tag people so hopefully the links work or I screwed this all up…

I was asked these two questions

  1. What would you consider as the most embarrassing moment of your life…
    I was telling someone I liked the band Alien Sex Fiend… but I said Anal Sex Fiend… yeah… that someone was my father-in-law….
  2. If you were a bird, who would you shit on 😂
    First off I am a bird… well a type of bird… and I shit on myself constantly… So more of that…

So now, to my nominees here are my questions for you.

  1. What is your favorite kind of post to read or write?… doesn’t have to be your most popular…
  2. How often should someone changes their underwear?… there’s no wrong answer, but best answer wins…


I kind of just want to ask people random questions now… I know all of these people, but do I know them… Is it odd to know all of our thoughts and feelings on life, but we have no idea what each of our favorite colors are?… Something to chew on…

Yeah Again. No I Don’t Have A Reason.

Last week I talked about my love for Post Office and then trailed off into something. This week I’d like to preach about other great books that I enjoy. I thought about twenty different topics while coming up with the one for last week. I can remember at least five. Not sure that I will get there by the end, but we can hope.

Lets start with a cliché book that most of us were forced to read in school, but I actually enjoyed. Not in school, but years later. I have this weird thing where if you tell me to read something… Well I’m not… I mean by force. By all means keep suggesting titles. I do check those out. I had the same problem in gym. I’ll run a fucking mile when I want to run a fucking mile. Put the stop watch away already damn….The book is called Animal Farm by George Orwell.

Even though I’m really into history. That isn’t why I like the book. Strip that all away. Stripe away that it is about government, countries, and all that political shit. Do you still like the book? That is why I love this book. I like all the political stuff and find all of it more fascinating than I have time to get into right now, but most of all I love the simplicity of the story. I am overwhelmed with wonder at the way George Orwell’s story about a farm could be so powerful on the surface. Which is why I didn’t like this book in school.

In school we lost this. We lost the simplicity of the story because they wanted to teach us something. The deeper meaning of it all. But that’s the fucking thing about Animal Farm. The story is so simple that it natural teaches you something. It sticks with you and when you look back on it as you grow older… As you grow older it is like a bomb going off in your head.

Now that I am so removed from school. Now that I have been in the world. Lived in this world. Animal Farm speaks louder to me than ever before. Each character is someone we know. I work with a Clover, I’m bossed around by a Napoleon, I happily champion for a Snowball, we all know a Squealer, and I am Boxer.  At my job I am the work horse. At work if they want something done they call me in. I knock it out and I move on. And like Boxer I am often left behind.

I am treated as though I am stupid. As though Ambrose couldn’t get it. Here go throw another case or go do this. I carry people on my back. I help everyone around me for the greater good. So that everyone can have an easier time at work. I can do it so why not? Because it isn’t fair. That isn’t how life should work. Everyone should be pulling their own weight when it comes to the job. Problem is that often this doesn’t happen. Once established as a Boxer always going to be a Boxer. No matter how hard I try to break free from this role. I am what I am. We all have our place in this fucked up farm.

Okay now insert all that political under tone and what you have is a great fucking book. A book that as a writer I hold above me as a bench mark. Can I write something this fucking good. No, but I’m going to try until I do. Because the world needs a work horse and if I have to make a fucking windmill to do it. I’ll make a fucking windmill to do.





Broken Up Thoughts

The Things I Am

Shoveling the shit meal into the metal free cooking sleeve. I type in a minute and forty seconds into the radiation cooking machine. Not a second more and not a second less. By my meal you’d never guess that I wasn’t fat. My trash can however tells an entirely different story. My trash tells the story on an ever dying human being who is committing suicide in the open while being assisted by consumerism. Saddens me but then again I am American. This saddens me even more as an excuse for my actions but I’m human. But I am something enlighten by nothing.  I awaited the allotted cooking direction time before eating my prepared meal. Burning my taste buds in the process which is no more a bad thing as the food is good. I toy with the idea of making myself better or doing something of actual meaning. In reality though I’m just going to watch something on Netflix and await until I have to work again. This has become my life after high school. The life I am destined to die wide awake and out of control. The only variants being new updates to my current system or the next new and great product I can’t live without. Had a dream once but now I enjoy the soft warm glow that others make for me.


“You are so human. You cry for the devil, but when he shows up you cry foul as if you didn’t summon him in the first place. Take a side and keep with it. God damn indecisive mother fuckers.” Silence rings out behind the echoes of my last words. It sinks in that what I thought is what I said. I don’t regret a single word of it, but I know the shit storm is coming.


Past collide into a bloody mess
The thoughts leave me a tangled mass
Pray to a God that never forgives
But knows easily how to forget
The lord gives so much only to take it away
Finding faith in lies is hard enough
Throw a wrench like that in
See what we find
Earth spinning in a sea of nothing
A crisis of faith turns into a need
To not feel so lonely
Scared at the thought
Frightened by the touch

Another Wenesday another set of broken up thoughts left to dwell on. No real theme this week. Though that would appear to be the point of the day…. 

If you didn’t know my Novel A Lie is now available on Kindle.  I also have two other books available on there and through Kindle Unlimited. Check them out let me know what you think.


Titles and How They Work for Me?

I may have written myself into a hole. I know I’m always in a hole. Maybe a side hole? That sounds strange. What I mean is I need to recharge. Regroup my thoughts about everything. Call it writers block if you want, but I have been writing. I’ve been working on my next project Running Into Traffic. Full title is Running Into Traffic with a Pair of Scissors and a Glow Stick. Safety First. For those of you unfamiliar I like long ass book titles. My first short story collection was titled, Drinking Bleach to Stay Alive and my poem collection is called And Other Things From This Time. I cut them down to Drinking Bleach and And Other Things. This one will get a title cut down as well. Could you imagine the original title on a book shelf or in a review?

I’m sure you are thinking that this is for comedic purposes. Honestly it is not, but it did work out that way. Like Chewing on Glass I like to find fun ways to do awful things. Hints Drinking Bleach or Running Into Traffic. I also like to throw off the scent of what I am working on. Both titles don’t scream short story collection. Hopefully over time they will, but I can see at present that they don’t. No I don’t care.

I decided a long as time ago that for short story collections I would use something arcane for titles. Years ago when I was putting together Drinking Bleach I fell in love with that title though originally that was not my plan. In fact I had no plan to ever write bleach. What I wanted to write was A Lie my novel, but at the time I had never written a single story. So I wrote my ideas down for A Lie and what I wanted to say. Put it away kind of and began my first short story. Which was To Become King. I know an action story was the first story I ever wrote. Very strange indeed.

Lost focus there for a second. How I came to the title Drinking Bleach. Before I began writing or wanting to be a writer I wanted to be in a band. Music is a huge part of everything I do. I listen to music constantly. Sadly I have no musical talent. But what I do have is imagination. I use to imagine that I had this amazing band called The Virgin Suicides. (Yes the short story The Last Great Band is based on them. Which can be found in Drinking Bleach.) So they needed an album title and that is where I came up with Drinking Bleach. To fit into that whole gimmick. I had a lot of gimmicks for this band. I have a taste for the theatrics.

The idea for the cover was to reproduce that party scene from the film, but with all the kids drinking bleach instead of punch. Pretty basic. (Also I hate the smell of bleach so it seemed like a really shitty way to go.) This was also supposed to be the book cover, but that never happened. I went with a whole other picture with the idea of going back later and changing it. It is now years later and I still haven’t bothered. I like the current cover, but it doesn’t convey what I wanted to say. If you follow me on Twitter it is basically the same story about the Penguin…. I need to change that.